𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 || A. Donaldson & P. Zweig x reader

ONE

Pairing: Art Donaldson x black!reader, Patrick Zweig x black!reader

Summary: Standing in Tashi Duncan's shadow was not anything a weak minded soul could handle--when the "Pouty Princess" encounters Art and Patrick at her cousin's party, a sudden rush of attention and admiration begins to poison her heart and mind that spans for years beyond her imagination--did you escape Tashi's shadow or had you become an even more calculated adversary?

Warnings: CHALLENGERS SPOILERS, sexual situations, angst, language, minors DNI, edited during sleep deprivation

Word Count: 5.2K

___________

CHAPTER TWO “BEGINNING OF OUR END” 

BILLIE JEAN KING NATIONAL TENNIS CENTER - 2006 

“What do you need?” 

You couldn’t stand the silence, the only thing occupying any ounce of noise was the sound of Tashi’s shoelaces slapping together nervously. She always put on a tough front, confident enough in her abilities and talent to destroy her opponent. She could uphold that exterior in front of everyone but you…and most times she didn’t want to. 

Out of everyone in your family, everyone who expected something from her, you were the only one who just wanted Tashi as a friend. 

The locker room was empty. A bit steamy from when the players of the previous match either showered away their defeat or soaked in their victory. Your phone buzzing incessantly with texts from your Uncle, the man wondering how his prized possession was doing ahead of her match. 

“Huh?” Tashi asked, tuning back into reality with her thumbnail positioned between her teeth. She snatched her finger from her lips and rested it on her thigh. Slipping back into her powerhouse persona. “I’m fine.” 

“You’re doing that shaky thing with your leg.” You pointed out, raising a brow at her blatant lie. You didn’t push her further, just switched the subject. “Look, your bag is all packed and your water is full.” 

She remained silent, visibly in her head to the point where you couldn’t break through. You tucked your Motorola Razr in your pocket, stepping carefully over to her bench. “You’re going to kill it out there.” Sitting next to her, you placed your hand on her right knee. “You always do.” 

She tucked her long curly hair behind her ears, nodding in assurance. “Can you do my braid? I think they’re going to call me soon.”

Digging into your tote bag, you pulled out her styling gel, hairspray, and her wood-handled bristle brush you always traveled with. Smiling, you held up the products in front of her. “High or low pony?” 

“You pick.” Tashi broke into a toothy grin, allowing the stress to melt off of her in the comfort of your presence. 

“And now entering the court, the girl’s singles world number one and winner of the Junior Australian Open … Tashi Duncan!”

Art Donaldson and Patrick Zweig sat in their seats, cheeks flushed, coming down from the high of their win to watch another victory for the women’s division. The hottest girl in tennis made her way to the court in the sleekest of Adidas gear and her hair braided longly down her back. The epitome of beauty and goddess of Tennis that Patrick so kindly described her as, was everything Art imagined and more.

“Fuck.” Art said, slouching in his seat absentmindedly. His eyes zeroed in on her on the court, watching her take out her rackets, studying how her body moved before the game even began.

Tashi held her gaze on her bag too long, catching even more of Patrick’s attention. She called over her shoulder in the direction of the sidelines. The starstruck boys couldn’t hear what she was saying, only flickering their eyes as another girl ran across the court holding a fresh red and white racket. Boys being boys, they noticed the way her ass jiggled in the short white tennis skirt she wore. It was paired with a red and white “DUNCANATOR” crewneck and New Balance sneakers, what appeared to be a uniform of sorts. 

For a split moment, Art thought about what she looked like underneath the baggy clothes—if the rumor was true that girls who dressed like that had banging bodies hidden under the wave of fabric. You turned to face the crowd, hand hovering over your eyes to block out the blinding mid-afternoon sun. 

“Who is that?” The blonde asked, tapping Patrick without looking away. You grinned briefly, waving to Tashi before skirting off, taking your place back on the sidelines and in the shadows of the court. 

“Her?” Patrick points. “I think she’s Tashi’s sister, Y/N. She’s always just kinda … there at her matches, holding her bags. Nobody really knows anything about her.” 

Art licks his lips, adjusting himself in his seat. “She play?” 

“If she did, we would have seen her by now.” The brunette stated, briefly tearing his gaze away from Tashi to look at his friend. “You’re into her?”

The boy shook his head, trying to comb through his overwhelming thoughts. “Never said that.”

“You didn’t have to, Big Boy.” Patrick nodded toward the bulge slowly growing in Art’s cargo’s. “He said it all for ya.”

Embarrassed, he placed his crystal trophy over his crotch and held it in position firmly. “For fucks sake, come on, Patrick.” 

“I’m just saying.” The boy laughed, patting his friend on the back. “Why have a hard-on for Y/N when Tashi freaking Duncan is right there? Don’t you think you deserve better than second best?”

Art squinted, gears turning in his mind. “You sound like a real dick right now, you know?” He asked, suppressing a grin. “Just because she doesn’t play Tennis doesn’t mean she’s just like .. unimportant.”

His final sentence was punctuated with the opening serve administered by Tashi. Her grunts, footwork, and the way she swung her racket with such ferocity had diminished any thoughts on her assumed sister. Tashi and her Russian opponent had rallied the ball back and forth for what felt like minutes, condensed down into mere seconds of gameplay. The slender girl smacked her racket, the poor ball flying over the net and bouncing on the corner of the court. Her opponent couldn’t keep up, diving for the ball that ran away from her grasp and gained Tashi the first point of the match. 

The crowd roared, people jumping up out of their seats simply upon the opening point. 

Patrick looked around, nudging Art who was too transfixed on the electricity of the court. “You see who the people are cheering for—you tell me what’s of importance here.” 

STANFORD UNIVERSITY - FOURTEEN YEARS AGO

“Why would you do that?” Art asked quietly, sitting beside Tashi in the infirmary, heart pounding at the way this all escalated. 

Her own thoughts were muddled and incoherent. She didn’t mean to say those things, but damn, maybe it was what you finally needed to get the hint that your mere presence was too loud. She turned to him slowly, trying to understand how this was now all turned on her. “You mean why did I tell her the truth? Tell her what you said?” 

“I never said that.” He said sternly. “I told you that I could tell she was becoming attached to me, I didn’t feel the same, and I came to you for help because you know her best. I didn’t tell you that to throw in her face. You were the one begging me not to hurt her.”

Tashi crossed her arms, licking her lips. “Well, I took matters into my own hands. Now you don’t have to deal with Y/N and can fuck whoever you want.”

“She’s your family, Tashi—“

“Therefore I know what’s best.” She snapped. “She’s a strong girl, she’ll be fine when she calms down.”

Art was in shock. “She’s crying.” 

He knew Tashi had a sense of brashness about her, that’s what he liked about having her as a friend, but to see zero compassion for her own blood was concerning. And he was worried as to why that didn’t bother him as much as it should have. 

“I didn’t see you running after her.” Tashi shrugged. “I’m more focused on what’s happening with my knee and my career. As far as I’m concerned, she and Patrick can go be wherever the fuck they want as long as it’s not here in my space.”

The blonde flickered his eyes in her direction. “And you want me in your space?”

“Yes.” She said softly. “So will you stay?”

Across campus, huddled in the warmth of your dorm as the mid-afternoon turned to evening, Patrick Zweig sat across from you on your bed. He spent a better portion of the day teaching you how to smoke--which then turned into making you laugh. It was a mutually beneficial pairing in the moment and he brought you comfort in a dark time.

Two lost people, thrown away as if they didn’t matter, and thrust into each other’s paths.

The cigarettes had been long gone but the smell still lingered on your clothes. A half-eaten pizza box was stationed on top of the mini fridge, housing the beers Patrick bought to take the edge off. 

“Remember when we first met?” Patrick asked, the music playing softly from your iPod dock filling the silence. “You were so mean.” He chuckled at the memory.

“It was your fault…” You chugged your beer. Sitting the green bottle on the floor and return your focus to him. “Well, you and Art…yeah.” You laughed lightly, eyes drooping at the thought of him. “I’m sorry. I can’t just forget about all of this. If anything I blame myself for being so stupid.”

“You’re not stupid, come on.” He protested. Inching closer to you on your twin bed. “You’re like the smartest person I know.”

You shrugged, staring blankly as that lonely feeling settled back in. Patrick was an amazing distraction but that was all he would ever be…a distraction from your truth. Come Sunday he’d be back on tour, Monday you’d be back in class, and the cycle would remain the same for the rest of your collegiate years. 

“I’m not boy smart. That’s what matters.” 

He frowned. “You’re going to let someone like Art dictate the entirety of who you are?”

“You all let Tennis define you.” You countered. “What’s the difference with me?”

Patrick took a deep breath. Racking his brain for the right thing to say since he was never good at it. “Because you’re better than me, than all of us. I’d hate to see Art drag you down like this.” He shared honestly, his own personal frustrations with his best friend taking control of the conversation. 

“I love him, Patrick.” You nodded, sniffling the sadness away. “I made the mistake of falling in love with someone who will never hold space in their life for me—and I never saw the signs. That is why I feel stupid.”

“Hey. Hey, don’t cry.” He tucked your hair behind your ear, firm hand resting on the side of your face. He didn’t know what was taking over him, maybe it was the beers or maybe it was Art’s betrayal. Whatever this was made him feel out of body as his skin met yours. “You’re too beautiful to cry…and I’m sorry he made you feel less than that.” His thumb wiped a stray tear. “I’d never do that to you.”

You wanted to pull away, to tell him this was wrong or convince yourself that you didn’t feel that way about Patrick Zweig. He was the closest thing to Art in that moment and you were the next best woman to Tashi. You both filled a void that the other ached for.

“When you return to tour don’t think about me and I won’t think about you.” You said. Even in your need for human connection you made the effort to now shield your heart. “It’s a one-time thing.”

“One-time thing.” He nodded. 

You cupped his chin, pulling him closer as his hands now found their way to your hips. The softness of his lips pulled you back down to Earth. You didn’t need Patrick to tell you that you’re beautiful or smart, these were things you already knew. It just felt good to have someone validate the quality aspects of who you are. You were mere seconds from giving up all confidence and self-actualization because a man didn’t like you anymore and hurt your feelings. 

Art Donaldson was the reason you lost yourself. Too wrapped up in him and Tennis like you’d been with Tashi for years.

Now, Patrick was the key to reclaiming your sensuality, and God, did he feel so fucking good from what you remembered.

ADIDAS LONG ISLAND PARTY - 2006 

“Holy shit, Tash!” You bounced up and down in your wedges, whispering in an effort for the adults not to hear you curse. Running up to your cousin as she held her trophy. “It’s so big! Where the hell are you gonna put that?”

You two stood between the newly unveiled posters of her Adidas campaign. The night air was crisp, kissed with a tolerable warmth that made wearing this outfit bearable. Tashi made an effort to pack one of her old knee-length dresses from last year, knowing that her Aunt and Uncle couldn’t exactly purchase a new one for you. You were anxious about wearing all white at a party such as this, but, as Tashi zipped you up she assured you that you were beautiful and that everything would be fine.

The taller girl laughed, holding it up higher in the air. “Hmm, probably with all the other ones.” She smirked. “Come here, let’s get a picture. You wanna hold it?”

“Wait, really?” You beamed, trying not to squeal in excitement. You felt the cool glass placed in your palm, Tashi on the other end of the trophy, the both of you holding it happily as the flash from the camera nearly blinded you. 

“Fire and Ice are staring again.” You laughed through the photo, still white-knuckling the glass trophy. “They’re cute but if it gets creepy, I’m calling your Dad.” 

Tashi grinned, peering over you and in their direction. “Maybe we can have some fun with them?”

“We?” You scoffed. “They don’t care about me, they’re here for you just like everyone else.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Hey, don’t say that. Why is it so hard to believe they might be into you too?”

You turned to face their direction, the boys too distracted in their own conversation to notice you. “Because nobody ever has been before.”

The sensation of her trophy is the closest you’d ever feel to being a winner, you knew that. The best bet in life was that she kept you around as part of her fan club in some way or another and you’d ride those coattails until you couldn’t anymore. There weren’t many opportunities for someone like you, someone who stuck to the sidelines while the big dogs played the game. But holding that trophy, being encapsulated in the memories, it was the first time you finally understood the thrill Tashi got from winning. 

And as time progressed you were unsure if you’d be able to let that feeling slip from your fingers.

“You know,” Patrick took a swig of his Coke, looking over at the giggly Duncan girls as they placed the trophy back onto its display podium. “Her sister’s kinda hot up close.”

Art stood nearby, finding it hard to focus on anything other than Tashi. “Weren’t you the one who just said she’s unimportant?” He was met with silence, filling the time by swallowing a bit of his Sprite. 

“Maybe her lack of being an athlete isn’t too bad for her.” Patrick shrugged. “I mean she’s curvy, fills out that dress at the top too—“

“Okay.” The blonde protested, shaking his head in annoyance. “We’re getting into objectifying territory over here.”

He felt a harsh smack on his shoulder, Patrick’s fingers flexing around his bone and pulling him closer. “We’re guys … the hell else are we supposed to do? Make friendship bracelets?” He looked past his friend, radar locked on his purpose of even coming here tonight. “Come on—“

Patrick swung himself and Art around to face the dancefloor. His arm haphazardly jammed into someone heading the opposite direction toward the gardens. You stumbled back at the impact, the sudden cold feeling flooding your chest and dribbling down your body.

You saw the horror of dirty brown splotches covering Tashi’s white dress that surely cost $200. The annoying chirping of the boys apologizing could be heard through the ringing in your ears.

The one night you actually felt good and here it was, ruined.

“What the hell?” You asked quietly. 

Patrick placed his now empty bottle down on the nearby table. “Shit, I’m so sorry.” He looked around anxiously for napkins or a cloth to give you. “Can I—“

“You’ve done enough, Patrick.” You hissed, eyes staring him down as tears threatened to poke through. “Maybe if you paid attention to something other than Tashi, you could have watched where you were going. Goodnight.”

Art’s eyes widened, looking between you and his best friend having a staring match. This was the first time he had ever seen Patrick go quiet. Was it out of embarrassment? Out of fear? He wasn’t sure. The only thing that was apparent to him was that you were seconds from bursting into tears. Before he could offer any remorse, you’d left them and darted for the restrooms. He turned to his friend, in shock as to how badly they just fucked up. 

“Woah.” Patrick grinned slightly. “She knows who I am.”

The boy hit his friend roughly in the arm. “Dude, she’s about to go cry and you messed up her dress.” 

“It was obviously an accident.” He protested, rolling his eyes. They watched you stomp across the grass a sticky mess, only turning back to look at them once and that was all Patrick needed to come up with a plan. “Go comfort her.” He nudged Art, the blonde beginning to tell him how terrible of an idea that was. “I messed up, okay, big time. You’re the only one who can get back in her good graces. You think Tashi will give either one of us the time of day after I just drowned Y/N in Coke? Hell no.”

He pondered the idea briefly, hating to admit that Patrick did have a point. “What if she thinks I’m trying to get with her?” He questioned. “I don’t want to hurt her feelings if things go somewhere with Tashi.”

“Let’s crawl before we walk, alright, she might not even be into you.” Patrick laughed. “Look at it this way, you spark up a friendship with Y/N and you’re in there with Tashi. Better advantage than I have right now.”

Art found you pushing through the crowd, completely changing your course of direction and barreling up the stone steps to the mansion. You could hear someone calling your name, making you turn around. Upon seeing his hair, you rolled your eyes, turning away and walking as fast as you can.

You were tired, sad, and anxious because you couldn’t remember if there was an extra set of clothes in the shared spot where you and Tashi left your belongings. Everything else was at the hotel and there was no way Tashi’s parents would leave her big day to appease you. 

“Oh my God.” You puffed, turning to face the tall boy. “If he sent you to apologize for him, I don’t want to hear it.”

Art shook his head. “He didn’t.” 

“Then why are you here?” You crossed your arms, impatiently waiting to hear what he had to say. 

He extended his elbow in your direction, a charming smile to match the gesture. “To escort you to wherever it is you want to go.”

“You came from the lawn to .. escort me?” You asked incredulously. Looking from his arm and back to him, his grin never left, eyes screaming for you to trust him. “Either that’s the worst lie you’ve ever told or you have a savior complex for damsels in distress.”

He laughed. “Can’t I simply just be a gentleman? My idiot friend spilled his drink on you and I was present. The least I can do is make sure you get to wherever it is you’re going safely.” No matter how hard you tried not to, Art forced a grin out of you in the blink of an eye. “There you go, Pouty Princess. There’s that smile.”

“Nicknames now?” You teased. “Quite friendly aren’t we?”

“I’ve been standing here like an idiot with my arm out for a minute. Please accept it and save me the embarrassment.” Art pleaded. 

Against your better judgment, you hooked your arm into his. Still feeling a bit silly about the large stain covering your dress, you tried pushing the thought to the back of your mind in his presence. “Let’s go meet Tashi by the beach.”

THE HOTEL - LATER THAT NIGHT

“I just want to go to sleep.” You whined, being dragged to the door against your will. “They’re teenage boys it’s probably messy in there and smells like cheese.”

Tashi laughed, seeing you squirm like this was adorable. The innocence you possessed was something she had been long trying to shake from you. You were seventeen and needed to live a little … and that’s exactly what she intended this hotel room visit to do for you. 

“Come on, it’ll be fun.” She whispered. “You saw them at the beach, they’ll do whatever we ask them to.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s because of you—“

“Shhh!” She laid her index finger over your lips, shutting down your self-deprecation immediately before it could enter the atmosphere. “Here’s the plan. We walk in there, heads held high, confidence soaring through the fucking roof. If anything goes badly, we never have to see them again.” Tashi shrugged as if it was the most obvious ideology in the world. 

“You, me, and Art are all going to school together.” You reminded her, still being met with indifference. 

She walked up to their door, knocking on it a few times. “Stanford campus is huge, okay, what are the odds?” 

You watched as she held her ear to the door, listening to the silence with a cheerful smirk. Tashi reached for your hand, pulling you closer to join her toying with them. Rapping her knuckles against the wood once more, the scrambling of two boys could be heard on the other side and in turn made you giggle. 

Tashi was right, boys really would do anything for female attention. 

You were apprehensive about sitting on the floor of their room. It looked dingy and did indeed smell—not of cheese—but of sweaty socks. You didn’t want to seem stuck up so you sat on the back of your legs beside Tashi, positioned in front of Patrick. His green and white striped button-down was open, revealing his toned physique, and making your heart rate quicken. 

There were a couple of times when you caught yourself staring at his body, he was too distracted engaging in conversation with Tashi to notice thankfully. 

It was when the story came about of how Art masturbated for the first time that you began to tune into the conversation. The beer can was being passed around while the story unfolded. Art’s fair skin now turning red in the face of embarrassment, all of you giggling at the idea that he was laying there in his own cum.  

“That’s a very sweet story.” Tashi smiled, taking a sip of the beer. 

The blonde disagreed. “It’s horrific.”

“It could be a lot worse, I think.” You chimed in, trying to make him feel better. 

“Yeah, you could be like Y/N…” You heard Tashi start, making you whip your head to the right and silently beg her not to finish whatever she was about to say. 

“Let’s not.” You tried laughing it off, taking the last swig of beer. 

Your cousin pouted, nudging you gently. “It’s cute, Y/N, come on.”

“I mean, we shared a story, now you have to tell one.” Patrick teased, raising his brows at you. 

Art leaned back, balancing on his arms. “The curiosity is out there, now we have to know.”

“Y/N hasn’t had her first kiss yet...” Tashi said, the power move covered in the softness of her delivery.

Your gaze immediately fell to the floor. Mood was completely depleted that she would tell two strangers one of the biggest things you were insecure about. Why would she do that? 

“What?” Art laughed, hard, glancing between the two Duncan girls. “You’re fucking with us.”

“There’s no way. You’re seventeen.” Patrick shook his head, chuckling a bit under his breath. 

They believed it was a prank, a joke that you two had planned to fuck with them. When neither of them saw a crack of a smile from you, only from Tashi, they were quickly able to put together that this was true. 

You lifted the beer can, wiggling it in front of you before placing it back on the carpet. “Well, we’re out of beer.” You stated dryly, desperately trying to end the night. “This was fun—“

“How often does this happen?” Tashi ignored you, pointing between the boys. She told them your story in an effort to drum up more interest, knowing that guys liked being someone’s first. She wasn’t going to let her hard work go to waste because you were a little uncomfortable. “Going after cousins?”

“Not as often as you think.” Patrick said, his eyes wandering from you and over to your cousin. 

You stood on your feet in annoyance, Tashi shortly following suit with a plan. She sat on their beds, perfectly in the middle as Patrick stared at you hesitantly. He noticed how you looked like you’d rather be anywhere but in this room. How uncomfortable this whole exchange made you feel.

He questioned how had you not been kissed yet? Even if it was something in passing or at a party, you surely had to have had something to begin your journey on human connections. You were too … pretty to have been left alone. 

Slowly he turned his gaze to the other Duncan girl positioned on his bed. Tashi nudged her head, telling the boys to join her. 

“Which one of us—” Art began, cut off by the sound of Patrick flying to her side. 

You examined them, all of them, the overwhelming sense of control she had over Patrick and Art as they came undone in her grasp. Too wrapped up in each other to notice you watching them. It was like a car crash, you wanted to look away but something about their energies and tongues mingling within each other pulled you back in.

Tashi had power. Tashi was power.

You craved to be like her. To have who she had. 

She held the boys faces together, leaning back on the bed while Art and Patrick explored each other’s mouths. They were beautiful. Equals in this moment in time and you wanted to experience them together. Biting your lip, your heart rate quickened at the sight. Legs clenched together as the smacking of their kisses sent you into hyper drive. Subconsciously, your hand hovered over the crotch of your black short shorts. 

Tashi shook her head at you, smirking seeing her cousin so hot and bothered by something finally. “Okay.” She said, the boys halting their passion and turning to her. She peered over them, raising a brow at you. “Pick one.” 

“Pick….?” You asked, chest rising and falling in lust. Her brown eyes flickered between the out of breath Art and Patrick. “I can’t do that. This is … I’m going to bed.” 

You slipped on your flip flops, confused and lost with the aching in your core. You’d have to reach an intimate resolution on your own. 

“Wait, Y/N.” Patrick spoke up, his hand wrapped around your wrist. “Let me do this with you. I owe you for ruining your dress.” 

You were stunned. His other hand grazing around the small of your waist while he pulled you close. Patrick Zweig was all you could see, all you were focused on was being face to face with the gleam of his chest. 

With those innocent doe eyes, you looked up at him through your lashes. His thumb and forefinger found themselves on your chin, tipping your face upwards before leaning in to kiss you. 

He was gentlemanly. Slow for your first time, Patrick did most of the work—figuring you were either too nervous or too inexperienced to know how to move. He tucked stray hairs behind your ear, giving his hand access to cup your cheek. You felt bad, just standing there and not doing much.

Your manicured hands found themselves against his chest. You could have power, you were a young woman in a compromising position with a guy. Tashi told you to have confidence and just like everything else in life, you decided to fake it till you made it.

You kissed him back, ferociously, trailing his body just as he was doing to yours. His hands hooked underneath your ass, hoisting you up and lifting you in the air. Patrick took you to his bed, laying you down gently. The sound of your lips smacking drowning out Art and Tashi on the other end. You suddenly felt very hot in your velour jacket, grabbing the zipper and pulling it down slightly to reveal your black bra. 

You could feel him smirk, the idea of being your first getting to his head. You realized this was a match to him. He wasn't really sorry for spilling his drink on you. You had something he wanted, that was the only reason he was interested in someone like you.

That was fine. If Patrick Zweig wanted a round with you, you'd finally get to play with the big dogs.

Detatching your lips from his, you grinned. "Switch."

"You want me on the bottom?" He asked.

"I want Art." You blinked, smirking at the slight disappointment in his eyes. "Why so sad? You wanted her, didn't you?" Turning to face your cousin, she raising a brow at your sudden boldness. "Come here." You instructed, instant gratification filling your body when the boys swapped positions.

Art was softer in his approach. Rough hands holding your wrists against the bed while his lips trailed your body. Neck, cheeks, and finally your lips were intertwined with his. “Quite friendly, aren’t we?” He teased, coming up for air before worshipping your body.

Tongues fighting over dominance, your body felt like it was on fire. Your back arched naturally, pressing yourself against his growing buldge and feening for more. Every whimper Art released against your lips, sent your core into hyperdrive. The slick of your arousal threatening to soak through your shorts.

Just when you thought you were getting the hang of feeling sexy, you heard him hiss slightly. You stopped, pushing him off of you in confusion. “Did I just … did I just bite you?” You whispered in terror.

“No.” Art said quickly, hovering over you with swollen lips. 

“You’re lying.” You scoffed at yourself. “Oh my God. I never should have came here. I’m an idiot.” 

The blonde shook his head, trying to calm you down. “It’s your first time, you didn’t know.”

“This never should have happened.” 

You didn’t bother to say goodnight or goodbye to anyone. All they heard was the sound of your flip flops as you left the room, holding yourself and crying for being an absolute loser compared to Tashi and compared to the boys. Praying for one day this feeling to pass and you’d get a fucking grip on reality. 

NEW ROCHELLE - ATP CHALLENGERS

“The fuck is he doing?” 

You whispered, seeing Patrick’s serve hit the net and awarding Art the point. He locked eyes with you, that disappointed puppy look looming before his gaze broke away. “Come on!” You screamed from the crowd, hands thrown up in frustration during the break. 

Tashi refused to look at her husband, her laser focus instead on your boyfriend. You stared between them, the exchange reminding you of an incident eight years ago that brought about more mental turmoil than Tashi or Patrick ever knew. Those feelings of dread, regret, fear, and love firing off on all mental cylinders.

"You just couldn't let me have him ... have this one thing." You leaned closer to her, propping your sunglasses on top of your head. “He was with you last night.” You realized, biting your lip in discontent. Tashi didn’t deny it, her eyes cut to you and told you everything you’d suspected was true. “One fucking argument and Patrick’s back to you.” 

“We’ve been swapping them for years.” Your cousin shrugged. “Nothing new.” 

“The difference is that now you’re married and a mother.” You retort. 

Tashi chuckled dryly. Crossing her arms over her chest in annoyance. "You're funding a man's life and managing his career because he wants to play pretend that he's poor. A forever girlfriend with nothing to show for it." She snarled, snapping back into that mentality of being on Stanford's campus when she broke your heart. She couldn't believe what she was hearing, that you were acting innocent when any pure qualities of yours died years ago. “None of that sudden morality stopped you in Atlanta.” 

“You fucked my boyfriend while your husband and daughter were asleep.” You grinned madly. The craving for a cigarette break hitting you full force right now. You got up, clutching your purse tightly beside you. Getting ready to leave, you hesitated, leaning down to whisper in her ear. “What Art and I did in Atlanta, you only brought it upon yourself—remember that.” 

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𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 | A. Donaldson & P. Zweig x reader

Pairing: Art Donaldson x black!reader, Patrick Zweig x black!reader

Summary: Standing in Tashi Duncan's shadow was not anything a weak minded soul could handle--when the "Pouty Princess" encounters Art and Patrick at her cousin's party, a sudden rush of attention and admiration begins to poison her heart and mind that spans for years beyond her imagination--did you escape Tashi's shadow or had you become an even more calculated adversary?

Warnings: CHALLENGERS SPOILERS, sexual situations, angst, language, minors DNI

Word Count: 3.9K

___________

CHAPTER ONE "HE WAS MINE FIRST"

NEW ROCHELLE - ATP CHALLENGERS

In August of 2019, the absolute only thing you were concerned with was turning Patrick Zweig into the biggest fucking star in men’s tennis the U.S. has ever seen.

Years of blood, sweat, and tears were inches from going down the drain at the New Rochelle Challengers tournament, and you refused to let yourself and your career be embarrassed because Patrick couldn’t get it the fuck together.

“Listen to me.” You said, cupping his chin. The two of you sitting in a small room as you awaited his call to the court. “I don’t care about the brand deals, I don’t care about the Grand Slam, I don’t care about our argument … the only thing I’m concerned with is you wiping the fucking floor with Art Donaldson.”

Patrick smiled, his right hand wrapping around your waist. He nodded, a look of understanding but hesitance stifling him and his mentality. “What if I don’t win?”

“That’s not an option, Patrick. Don’t start this—”

“It’s possible.” He argued, narrowing his eyes at you.

You scoffed. Snatching yourself from his grasp and grabbing your purse. “Art hasn’t won a match in God knows how long. This is child’s play.” You blinked, studying the stupid look on his face and how it’s never brought about anything good. “Why are you suddenly unsure of yourself? You’ve done this before and you will do it again.”

“He’s different now. We haven’t played against each other in years.” Patrick tried to rationalize much to your dismay. You rolled your eyes, digging in your purse in search of your phone and a cigarette. “I’m just being practical—”

You grabbed the device, fully out of cigs, clutching it firmly in your hand. “You? Practical?” You laughed.

The knock at the door didn’t rattle you, you stared into his soul and awaited for him to tell you the real reason this sudden doubt was being disguised as practicality.

His hand grazed the small of your back, leading you out of the room and through the corridors leading to the court. Something wasn’t making sense, his behavior was off, there was a gleam in his eyes that you knew tennis nor your presence were the cause of.

You were getting flashbacks to Atlanta. Running into Art in the hallway of the hotel. Your significant others missing in the dead of night. That sickening sense of dread causing your stomach and confidence to plummet to your feet.

Clutching your YSL purse tightly to your side, your matching high heels clicked and clacked against the rocky pavement leading to the stands. You were told that a front row seat was waiting for you and you craned your neck to search for your place. It wasn’t difficult to pick her out of the crowd, no matter how much she cut or dyed her hair she would always be recognizable.

You shared blood after all.

You slipped your dark Prada glasses over your eyes, calculated steps leading you to what you assumed would be another unpleasant family reunion. “Interesting they’ve paired us together.” You muttered, taking your seat next to Tashi as you both stared ahead.

“I told you to stay the fuck away from me.” You could hear her sigh beside you, one of frustration and annoyance that you’d identified many times before.

You turned to her, pulling your glasses down slightly. “And when was the last time I listened to anything you had to say?” You laughed, turning back to face the court. “I think you’re stuck in 2006, Tash … I’m not your little bitch anymore.”

The sun glistened, an alarming contrast from the windy and grueling weather the city witnessed over the course of the ATP Challengers match. It was fate for this game to happen, and for the two boys, now turned men, obsessed with the Duncan girls to face each other once more.

Patrick rounded the corner, returning back to your presence after you both just left the locker room together. “Kiss for good luck?” He asked, the only thing between you two being the short fence.

You stood from your seat, a grin creeping across your lips as you met his. The intensity of his presence had your heart racing with frustration and pleasure. No matter how often you argued, he was still yours in this moment alone. Your hand snuck to his neck before you pulled away from the intimate embrace.

“Fuck him up.” You stated, loud enough for Tashi to hear. You returned to your seat, adjusting your cream Loewe tank top and black dress pants.

Patrick remained quiet, just nodding upon your command before returning to the sidelines. He snuck the tiniest of glances at your cousin, enough to drive you up the wall. You couldn’t tell if it was a power move to keep you in line, or, a flutter of yearning for what once was.

“Whatever it is that you did,” you snapped your head in her direction, “you better shut it down right here, right now.”

Tashi shook her head. “I didn’t do anything, Y/N.”

“You can’t bullshit me.” You hissed. “Art may not see through this act that you do disguise as confidence, but me? I grew up with you and I know all of your tricks.”

She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. “…and there you go bringing him up.”

“I have every right to.” You shrugged, relaxing back into your seat. “He was mine first.”

STANFORD - FOURTEEN YEARS AGO

As important as college is to define your identity, yours was once again lost in the shadow of Tashi Duncan. You never wanted to go to school with your cousin, it was bad enough being converted into her lackey as she became the golden child of your family.

The agreement was that her father would pay for your education as long as you two attended together. Your mother and father couldn’t afford it really, and at any other school of your choice, you’d inevitably struggle to pay tuition. The money was used to control you and the tactics worked.

You shared everything together, her dorm being merely across the hall from yours, classes practically the same, the only distinction was that she was the athlete and you were the less cool family member that just happened to always be around. If you had told your fourteen-year-old self that you’d be going to college with Tashi, she would have jumped for joy. But now, with the fame and the money and her being a complete bitch … being in her presence was like hell on Earth.

The only good part about Stanford was Art.

Tennis had grown very boring very quickly until you watched him play. His moans and grunts mirror the ones he released with you underneath him in his dorm room. The attraction between you two was undeniable when you first met at seventeen and now it had transcended your college years.

Entering the dining hall, you could instantly feel the tension and anxiety spinning in the pit of your stomach. Large, obnoxious, “Duncanator” posters were plastered along the walls. Encouraging letters and support from Tashi’s on-campus groupies made you want to gag. You rolled your eyes briefly, searching for the real reason you entered the hall in the first place.

There he was, in all of his glory, positioned directly across from Tashi as they shared lunch together. Your insecurities would have spiked if he hadn’t told you he wanted to talk with her about Patrick and his career. Art may have liked Tashi in the past when you all were kids, but things were different now. It was always about tennis between those two.

Suddenly the loud screeching of the table chair skirting the linoleum flooring filled your ears. Tashi was pissed, something inaudible coming from her lips as Art appeared lost and concerned. You quickened your pace, trying to diffuse whatever was happening before she blew a gasket. 

“I think you might be the worst friend in the world.” She fumed, looming over the boy as you neared the two. She noticed you from the corner of her eye and took a rushed breath. “Don’t do this to her.” She stated, whispering so you didn’t hear.  

Art nodded. “Sorry.” 

“Hey!” You gleamed, trying to disrupt the tension between them. “It’s hot as fuck today. I had to walk all the way from the College of Business and my Marketing professor refused to turn the air on. I should have worn a tee shirt.” Your eyes focused on the grey material hugging Tashi’s body. “Is that mine?” your smile faded looking at the words “I TOLD YA” painted on her chest staring back at you. 

She cut her eyes in your direction. “Yeah, it got mixed up in my laundry and I liked it.” 

“So you just took my shirt?” You asked in disbelief. “If you’d have just asked I would have let you borrow it, Tash.” 

She pinched the bridge of her nose. Looking between you and Art, the two most annoying people in her world at the moment. “Oh my God, Y/N, it’s just a stupid tee shirt. I have bigger things to worry about right now.”

“I don’t care.” You laughed incredulously, letting your bag fall from your shoulder and onto the floor. “You have access to whatever the fuck you want and you still decide to take my shit … you’re being selfish, per usual.”

Tashi shook her head, looking around at some form of escape before she exploded. “Thanks for lunch, Art.” She acknowledged, ignoring you like she always did when she was upset. She sauntered off and out of the dining hall. Leaving you and Art to make sense of what that was. 

“She’s such a fucking bitch.” You huffed. 

Art pulled you in for a side hug, clutching you tightly and rubbing his strong hands down your arms. “She’s your cousin.” He retorts. 

“Which means I’ve been dealing with this since forever.” You fired back, glancing up at your boyfriend. “What was all of that about? She looked pissed at you.” 

Your encounters with Art started as hookups. Before practice, after matches, and even as early as 8 am before your first class. You always believed he was obsessed with you when in reality, you couldn’t let go of the idea of him. The idea that someone who was once interested in the great Tashi Duncan was now spending his free time tangled in your sheets and kissing your breasts. You felt relieved…like you’d finally won the silent battle.

Art was someone who genuinely liked you for you, not to get close to your cousin, or so you believed. 

It wasn’t difficult for Tashi to read between the lines of your undefined relationship. You were running around campus calling Art your boyfriend and while he never corrected you, his entanglements with you were never broadcasted proudly. Tashi didn’t know what Art had up his sleeve but whatever it was, she truly didn’t want you to get hurt. 

He kissed the top of your forehead, a grueling headache forming already. “It’s just some stuff with Patrick. They’re going through a rough patch.” He evaded the question, ignoring where Tashi mentioned his lack of true feelings for you. 

“When I talked to her this morning she said they were fine.” You furrowed your brows. Curious as to how their relationship could have gone to shit in the span of four hours. “He’s still coming to her match today?” 

Art nodded, scooping your bag from the floor and swinging it onto his shoulder. “Yeah, he should be here soon.” He stated lowly. “Where you headed? You done with classes for the day?” 

“Yeah, I’m tired. I’m going back to my dorm.” You held his hand, feeling the callouses from his intense tennis conditioning. “Walk me there?” 

“And what’s in it for me?” Art teased, a sly grin creeping on his lips. 

You pushed him slightly, and snatched his backward cap from his head, placing it over your curls. “Don’t piss me off before I cut you off.” 

Hand in hand, you two walked the campus grounds rather quickly to reach your dorm hall. When he felt as if you weren’t moving fast enough for him, Art scooped you up and threw you over his shoulder. Running through the hall, you screamed and pleaded for him to put you down. 

“Art! I swear to God if you drop me!” You slapped his ass, giggling. Making him laugh even harder. 

“Woah!” You heard a deep voice say, halting you both in your tracks right outside of your dorm. 

Carefully, your feet met the floor once more. Staring at his chest briefly, your eyes wandered upward, meeting the seductive gaze of Patrick Zweig. He was cocky, confident, and from your encounters a silly asshole who won Tashi’s number and never let Art forget it. He raised a brow, looking down at you as if he would swallow you whole. 

“Hey, Pouty Princess.” He smirked. 

You sighed. “I haven’t heard that since I was seventeen … let’s keep it that way.” You pat his shoulder roughly. 

The attention quickly shifted from you to Art. The two friends embracing and catching up in the hallway. As more time passed with no indication of Art cutting the conversation short, your energy had depleted. Even though he rarely saw Patrick, they had the duration of his visit to spend time together. This moment was supposed to be for you and now it was being ruined. Flashes of that hotel room sent chills down your spine—the embarrassment of the two boys fawning over Tashi while you nervously watched. 

Between her stealing your shirt and now being second choice compared to Patrick, you were instantly turned off.

“Dude, I’m starving.” The brunette held his stomach. “Do you think we could go grab something—“

You chuckled nervously. “We were just about to chill—“

“Yeah for sure.” Art interrupted, a grin spreading on his face. 

You snapped your head in his direction. “You literally just ate.” You furrowed your brows. 

Patrick looked between you two, the gears shifting in his mind. “Wait…” He let out a loud chuckle, gesturing in your direction. “Were you guys about to fuck?”

“Yes.” You deadpanned. “I was about to give Art the fucking time of his life, but, it’s fine.”  You rolled your eyes, snatching your bookbag from your boyfriend’s grasp. “Go eat.”

Art’s features softened, knowing he was in trouble. “Wait, Baby.” He reached for your waist which made you inch away from his grasp. You quickly dug into your bag, grabbing the Stanford lanyard from the front pocket that held your keys.

“I’ll see you at the match.” You unlocked the door, stepping inside. “Always good to see you, Patrick.”

The slamming of the door completed your sentence. You gave it a few seconds. Sensing from the bottom of your heart that there’d be a knock on your door and a curly-haired blonde on the other side. When a minute passed, you gave up, throwing your bag across the room and knocking over the lamp on your desk. 

Second best to Tashi, second best to Patrick. 

Is this how things would be for the rest of your life?

Looking at the wall clock beside you, there wasn’t much time until Tashi’s match. You didn’t even want to go at this point. So mentally drained with her and her attitude that the match was the least of your worries. You sat on your bed, arms crossed, foot tapping the ground in frustration as you and your thoughts sat in silence. They would all be at the courts, together, having a great time without you. You refused to allow them that satisfaction. They couldn’t just throw you away. 

You served a purpose beyond playing fucking tennis.

Wiping the two tears that managed to break free, you shot up from the bed and dug through your dresser. Pulling out leggings and a matching grey tee, you freshened up and changed. Taking your hair from it's ponytail and allowing it to be free flowing, you looked at yourself in the mirror and already began to feel a bit better. By the time you finished getting ready, you were going to be ten minutes late.

Grabbing your keys and wallet, you headed for the court and regained your composure during the five minute walk. Looking into the stands, you saw Art, sitting alone and squinting due to the beaming sun. You trudged up the stairs, breezing past spectators as you sat to the right of him.

"Where's your boyfriend?" You asked dryly.

"He's not coming." Art replied, trying to make you laugh.

You cut your eyes in his direction. "You think everything is a joke."

"I don't." He stated defensively. "I just hadn't seen him in a while and there was some time before the match."

You huffed, trying to ignore the perfect pout in his lips and how helpless he sounded. "Yeah well that was our time together and he's going to be here the whole weekend. Seems like you'd rather spend time with everyone else but me."

"Hey." Art said softly. When you ignored him, he grabbed your chin, forcing you to look him in the eyes. He pulled your lips into his, giving you a sensual kiss in the midst of all the screaming fans. The sense of security and warmth fleeting as soon as he let you go.

The audience gasped. Screaming on the court was the only thing your ears registered. Tashi was laying on the court, holding her leg, and crying to the top of her lungs.

"Oh fuck." You muttered, shooting up out of your seat in disbelief.

Without a second thought, you cut through the stands and pushed people out of your way. You beat Art to the court, him following behind you quickly.

"Tash?!" You yell out. "I'm here. Hey, I'm here it's okay." You dropped to the ground, trying to hold her but it was no use. The amount of pain rushing through her was unfixable.

She opened her eyes, an amount of sadness behind them that you didn't think she was capable of expressing. "It really hurts." She whined.

"We'll get you fixed up in no time." You nodded, tucking her braid out of the way. "I promise."

There was something unintentially sinister about making a promise that you could not keep. As you sat with Art in the infirmary, Tashi and her wrapped knee between you both, you kept replaying the match in your head. She had never cried like that before, not even when you were children. You blamed yourself even though there was nothing you could have done to avoid this. You were here to protect her and you failed.

A figure appeared in the doorway, catching your attention. You turned and saw a sweaty Patrick, cheeks red and flushed from running to the infirmary.

"I'm sorry, I---" He began, taking small steps inside.

Tashi refused to face him. "Out."

You scrunched up your face, confused as to what had happened between them.

"Tashi..." Patrick pleaded.

She pointed toward the door. "Out!"

"Listen--" The brunette didn't stop. Not when he felt insurmountable guilt for being absent.

"Out! Out! Out!" Tashi hollered, making you jump and the pure rage fueling her.

Art stood on his feet. "Patrick!" He shouted. "Get the fuck out."

Patrick looked at his best friend, then his girlfriend, who turned away from him and returned her attention to the wall in front of her. He shook his head in shock and left from their sights.

"Why were you so mean to him?" You asked innocently, to no one in particular.

Tashi scoffed. "Excuse me?"

You stood up, leveling with Art. "He's your boyfriend and he's here to support you." You frowned. "I mean really, what the hell happened between you two?"

"I don't think this is a good idea, Y/N." The blonde protested, watching Tashi grow more upset.

"I'm literally just asking a question." You retort. "I'm trying to understand why you both just turned on him out of nowhere. What am I missing here?"

She sat up in the bed, eyes lasered in on you. "My relationship is really the least of your concerns right now." She hissed. "Not when yours is nonexistent." Your cousin slipped.

"Tashi--" Art warned.

You raised a brow. "What the fuck are you on about now?"

"It's the mere fact that you have all of these opinions and ideas and haven't the slightest damn clue as to what is happening in your own life." She spewed venom in your direction. Pointing at you with the utmost vitriol you've ever seen. "I tried everything to prevent you from getting hurt but now I don't care. While you've been around blowing Art, he's been coming to me trying to find the words to break things off with you."

The boy could barely look in your direction. "Tashi, please." He begged too late.

"He thinks you're annoying, clingy, and I frankly feel the fucking same." She continued. "You're always around and embarassing the hell out of me everytime you open your mouth."

You looked to him, trying to find some indication that this was a bluff. Art didn't defend himself, defend you, or deny anything that was said. You held more dignity than to ask him if any of this was true. You should have known that sex wasn't enough, that men will fuck and suck anything that isn't nailed down. You weren't special.

Everything between you and Art might as well have been a lie.

"I didn't think this was possible, but, your leg getting mangled turned you into more of a complete cunt." You choked down sobs. Turning to Art, who finally looked you in the eye, and you just shook your head. "Fuck you!"

You turned on your heel, storming out of the infirmary and ignoring Art calling your name. Your chest heaved furiously. You wanted nothing more than to kick the shit out of Tashi in her other leg. It took everything inside of you not to turn around and unleash on her.

The better half of your anger stemmed from heartbreak. How much you actually loved Art had turned you into a fool, apparently an annoying one. The other half stemmed from insecurities...the fact that some of those things Tashi said were probably true and you'd successfully buried them deep within you until now.

You burst through the doors of the sports center. The hot sun beaming down on you and further fueling your irritation. You cupped your hand over your eyes, trying to find the path back to your dorm when your gaze landed on the pacing figure smoking near the trees.

Patrick was still here and as of right now, the only friend you had.

"You have another one of those?" You asked, sauntering over in his direction.

The man squinted, looking down at you. "Since when do you smoke?"

"Since apparently I'm clingy and annoying." You leaned against the tree with him. "Oh, and embarassing, can't forget that."

Patrick winced. "Tashi said that to you?"

"She simply repeated what Art told her." You nodded in disbelief.

He opened his mouth to speak. Closing it quickly as he searched his pockets for a pack. Carefully he grabbed a fresh cigarette, passing it to you with a small smile. "If it makes you feel better, I don't think you're any of those things. I actually think you're kinda cool." You looked between him and the stick hesitantly. "I'm gonna have to teach you how to smoke it, you know?"

You took the cig between your fingertips, looking up at his gentle eyes and in that moment, you shared a grin. "Well, Patrick, teach me then."

Taglist 🏷️ @dvrkstxrlightt @hiitsmebbygrl16 @dxjaaaa @malscorner @ysuftmikey @thatb1txh @v-ixx @minseok-mochi @chernobylplant @babyspice6 @artsenthusiastk77 @holierthancunt @hesvoid34 @hiiiiiiguuuuuurl

Zendeya inspired by christian dior haute couture spring 1999.

we’re pretending? - jude bellingham x reader.

quick sum: no date to an upcoming wedding, you use your best friend as last resort. what happens when your best friend isn’t playing pretend anymore and you’re left conflicted with these unusual feelings…

wc: 4.6 k | masterlist | jude’s masterlist

“yes mom, i know. i picked my dress up yesterday, and my flight is booked as well,” you sighed and rolled your eyes knowing she wouldn’t be able to see you through the phone. she knew how important this wedding was but she kept putting the pressure on you. it was the last thing you needed especially after you told her you’d bring someone along.

that someone was now you’re ex-boyfriend. you had less than 48 hours to come up with an excuse or show up alone.

A Breath of Life || Challengers

Pairing(s) : Reader x Patrick – Reader x Art – Reader x Tashi (sort of.) 

CW: MDNI - 18+ : smut, rough / manhandling. Infidelity. Angst. A lot of yearning. (They all want each other, badly.) Manipulative behaviour. Minor spoilers for the film.

Notes: Female Reader (AFAB Reader) - Absolutely no use of y/n, (because I despise it, sorry)

Wordcount: 9.7K

Summary: You met Tashi in your final year of high school and were more than happy to have lost a tennis match against her. Afterwards, the two of you become inseparable and you find yourself feeling for her in a way that you don’t quite understand.And then things get even more complicated when Patrick and Art burst into your lives. As the years pass, desire, love and hatred all get tangled together...and so do the four of you.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

The idea of meeting Tashi Duncan had been much more intimidating than the actual event itself. It was an odd thing, to idolise someone who was the exact same age as you—a girl not yet out of high school and still so chronically unsure of herself and the world—but it was impossible not to. 

You had watched every single match of hers that you could, staring for so long at the way she moved, that you were left with the afterimage of her burned into your eyes: She was in your thoughts constantly and always waiting behind your eyes when you closed them hoping for sleep. 

You were brilliant at tennis, you knew that you were. But Tashi played like it was the only way she could take oxygen into her lungs; each serve and shot an inhalation and exhalation. You understood, because you felt something similar.

For a long time, you had been ignored or dismissed in every aspect of your life, by everyone. But then you had found tennis, and you were really fucking great at it. 

 Tennis saved your life by making you undeniably tangible. Your existence could not be disputed when someone had to react to your movements, to receive something you had offered. 

It was no wonder then, that for as long a match lasted you were unhealthily obsessed with whoever it was that you were playing against. They made you real. 

But then you played Tashi. You had lost, of course, but it had been a close match, neither of you dominating for long before the other gained the upper hand once more. The gasps from the crowd had been the swelling of some great tide, breaking against your flesh and reinvigorating you like freezing water. 

Once it was over, you felt bereft of something vital. You felt as though you had slipped back into non-existence, only this time it was worse than ever, because your connection to Tashi Duncan was gone. 

But your body remembered. It ached and throbbed, rebelling at all you had put it through- no. All Tashi had put it through. You were desperate to feel it again. 

And your prayer was answered. 

She appeared before you like an angel.

Tashi jogged over to you as you gathered your things after the match, flushed and with beads of sweat glistening on her skin like crystals. And her eyes…they had been wide and dark and enrapturing. And then she had said the words that would change the trajectory of your life: 

“So, when can I play you again?”

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

Ruah is the Hebrew word that means God’s spirit, but it is also breath or air and is widely understood to be God’s presence in the world. 

You couldn’t remember when you had learnt the word, but you knew that in the Bible, God had created Adam by breathing life into him. Which was why, when anyone joked about Tashi Duncan being some kind of deity, you could not dispute it, because that is what she had done to you. 

Tashi had breathed life into you.

 Her presence in your life has allowed you to come alive even off the court: you finally felt like a real person. Thanks to her, you knew that when you put your racket down, you did not simply disappear. 

Tashi saw you, on and off the court, and you loved her for it.

But, by the time you were both accepted into Stanford, over a year after you’d first met, you still wouldn’t let yourself delve into that love, and work out the ways in which you felt it. Not only because, you’d only ever been drawn to guys in any romantic or sexual way, but also because you felt undeserving of her.

 How pathetic would it be for you, who crawled at your best friend’s feet, to look up and whimper out words of desire to her?

 You were blessed to have her in your life, let alone to be as close with her as you were. Love was so many disparate things; you could love her as a friend, and hold that carnal aspect deep down. Just having her in your life was more than enough. She was enough.

Or so you thought. 

At the party celebrating Tashi, the two of you had not yet left each other’s side. You were dancing together, close enough that you could feel the ecstasy of victory buzzing beneath her skin as she held your hands and pulled you close. Her hair was silken and flowing down her back and as you were tangled up with her, it tickled against your own exposed skin. 

“They’re still staring.” You whisper into her ear, laughing as she answers by twirling you around and then pulling you back in. 

You practically fall into one another, having to steady yourself by placing your hands on her hips, the beaded fabric of her dark blue dress digging into the palms of your hands. 

“Good.” Tashi answers, wrapping her arms around your shoulders.

She turns you enough that with your chin resting on her shoulder, you are looking right at the two boys who had been gawking all night. One dark haired with confidence coming off him in waves, the other more reserved, a different kind of potency bubbling beneath the surface.

The blonde’s eyes meet yours and he tilts his head, offering a delicate but untethering smile. 

“You’re going to have to talk to them.” You offer, still held in Tashi’s arms. “Otherwise they’re going to follow you around like lost puppies all night.”

You gasp and squirm away as your friend playfully pinches your side.

 “Do you really think they’re just looking at me?” Tashi questions incredulously.

You laugh at her shock. “Of course they are.” You say, gesturing up and down her form as she continues to sway to the music. 

“Oh my God!” Tashi exclaims, grabbing your hand and pulling you close again. “You’re such a fucking idiot! They’re looking at you, too!” 

You roll your eyes, but can’t help feeling a little buoyed at the prospect of being desired. “Yeah, right.”

Tashi shakes her head. “It’s a good thing you’re so oblivious, I like having you all to myself!”

Heat floods every part of you, acutely aware of the sweat trickling down the back of your neck, your skin uncomfortably warm. 

Only when the two of you have stopped dancing do they come over. 

Art Donaldson and Patrick Zweig saunter needfully into your life and had you known then all that would ensue, you still would have welcomed their approach. 

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

The four of you had wandered down to the beach. 

Art and Patrick were sitting on deck chairs that sat side by side, their legs stretched out and their gazes lustful, both of them looking at Tashi who was perched on a rock opposite them. In that moment, the moon seemed made only for her, the silver light lining her form. 

You sit on the sand near her, your legs pulled up to your chest. The waves softly hit the beach behind you, lulling you into an even more incorporeal mindset. All that exists to you, is Tashi and the two boys who so clearly want her. 

Despite how desperately you want to engage in their conversation, you’re exhausted and distracted by the knowledge that your parents will already be looking for you. 

You’ve rested your chin on your knees, your eyes drooping shut, when a voice calls out to you. 

“Hey, are you okay?”

 Art is crouching beside you, his hand on your back, his knees sinking into the sand, shifting the surface beneath you. You jolt at the contact, scrambling to your feet as Tashi chuckles.

 Patrick’s gaze flits between you and Art and then over to your best friend, his cheeks dimpled with a smirk. 

“I’m fine.” You reassure with a shaky smile, brushing sand off the back of your dress. “I should go though, my parents will be waiting.” 

“You can’t leave!” Patrick protests playfully, placing a hand to his chest. “You’ll break my heart.”

You grin, spurred on by his own smile and shrug. “And why should I care about that?”

Patrick’s mouth drops open in feigned hurt as Art chuckles, shoving his hands into his pockets and stepping away from you. 

You turn to Tashi, meaning to say goodbye, but she’s already up and hugging you. She often kisses your cheek as a form of goodbye, but this time she gets so close that her lips tease the corner of your mouth as hers make contact. You are electrified by it.

You know that she isn’t doing it for you, which is confirmed when she pulls away with her eyes flitting giddily between Art and Patrick who have both gone utterly still as they watched the display. 

 Despite the jealous ache that blooms, you play into it, because another part of you is excited at the thought of working the two boys up. You pull Tashi back into a hug, your hands resting dangerously low on her back as you squeeze her. She giggles into your ear. 

“You already have them wrapped around your little finger.” You say it quietly, but loud enough that you know the boys will hear. 

Over Tashi’s shoulder, you see Patrick smirk again and Art runs his thumb over his his bottom lip with a small smile on his face.

When you do finally pull away, Tashi smacks you on the ass. 

“It was great to meet to you!” Art shouts after you. 

“I miss you already!” Is Patrick’s shouted offering.

You just shake your head and continue on your path away from the beach.

Unbeknownst to you, three sets of eyes follow you until you’ve disappeared from view.

When you get home, you still feel the touch of Tashi all over you. But when your hand dips under the covers, something has changed. Because when you close your eyes, it’s not just Tashi you see. Instead, multiple people are fighting for dominance in your midnight fantasy:

You see Patrick’s licentious smirk.

You see Art’s coy smile. 

They’ve both invaded your mind, corrupted your thoughts that for a year had been so gloriously void of anything but Tashi.

And from that moment, you know part of you will always hate them. For so long, even knowing you can’t have her, all you’ve needed to sate yourself are thoughts of Tashi. But they’ve changed that.

You hate Patrick Zweig and Art Donaldson because they’ve made you want more. You want….one of them. You don't know why and you also don’t know which one of them it is. 

But what is clear to you, is that a new itch has arisen within you, and it comes with panic, because unlike with Tashi, you’re certain there’s a possibility that one of them might actually want to scratch the itch for you.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

Had he known how furious you were going to be with him when you arrived, you doubted Art would have been so eager to invite you to have lunch with him in the cafeteria. 

Even when you slam your tray down and drop into the seat opposite him, he still looks happy to see you. He always did. It was infuriating.

“What are you playing at, Art?” You struggle to keep your volume down. You hadn’t wanted to yell at someone in a long time, but he had managed it.

Concern flashes in his eyes, but his lips press together in a way that tells you he knows exactly what you’re referring to. And yet he still asks:

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re fucking with Tashi’s head.”

“I would never do that.”

You scoff, stabbing the flimsy plastic fork into your salad. “Except you are, and I know that you’re doing it on purpose.”

Art pushes his own tray to the side and settles his elbow onto the table, resting his chin on his hand. “Yeah, how’d you figure?”

“Why else would you tell her that Patrick doesn’t love her?”

“Because I don’t think he does. Do you?”

You ignore his question, instead opting to pick up your apple and throw it at his head, hard. He catches it, that damnable little smile still on his face. 

“For fuck sake, Art!” You erupt. “She needs to keep her head on straight. Don’t upset her just because you want her for yourself!”

He tilts his head, blue eyes sparkling as he takes a large bite out of the apple. He chews for a bit before holding it back out to you, speaking through a mouthful:

 “You should have the rest of this, you haven’t been eating enough.”

“Fuck you!” You snatch it from his hand and shift in your seat, easily throwing it and landing it right in a nearby trashcan.

“Well that was a waste of perfectly good fruit.” Art licks some residue off his thumb and then leans across the table. 

You fail to snatch your wrist away before he grabs it. He’s gentle but firm, and as his thumb rubs along your pulse point, you feel the residual moisture from his own mouth he’d left behind, transferring to your skin.

“You don’t have to fight this hard to protect her,” Art presses. “She’s a grown woman.”

“She’s my best friend and I don’t want you to hurt her.” 

Art’s thumb stills, but he tugs your wrist a little closer. “Do you really think I could?” 

You scowl, pulling free of his hold. “You know, the way you and Patrick worship her isn’t the compliment that you both seem to think it is. You’re putting her up on a pedestal, practically deifying her, but she’s not invulnerable. She feels more strongly than anyone I’ve ever known and tennis is her life. If you get in her head and fuck up her game, It will break her and then I will break your fucking hands.”

This time when he’s smiles, it’s rife with fondness for you and it makes you want to punch him for the fluttering it causes in your stomach.

“You didn’t answer my question.” He says simply.

“What?”

“Do you think Patrick loves her?” Art repeats patiently. 

“Do you love her, Art?” 

“Can you please just answer my question?”

“I don’t know!” You throw your hands up in exasperation. “I’m not even sure I would know love if I saw it. All I do know, is that you both lust after her and definitely for each other too, even if you’ll never admit it. You’re all totally fucked.”

Art’s jaw clenches, the muscles ticking, but instead of irritation or anger at your outburst, his gaze softens. When he speaks, it is soft and achingly tender:

“You do know love. Because you love Tashi.” 

You let out an embittered laugh. “Of course I do. I tell her all the time.”

“But she doesn’t love you, not in the same way.”

You really didn’t know if he intended for that to sting, especially not with how gently he’d said it, but if he had, he’d failed. You came to accept that fact a long while ago, and while you would always want Tashi in some respect, it was not the all consuming desire it had been. The lust was gone. She was important to you. She was your best friend and you wanted to protect her. 

Unfortunately, the two men you wanted to protect her from, were the ones who had usurped her as objects of desire in your mind.

“Are you trying to find yourself a catchphrase before you go pro?” You sneer at Art. “I’m not sure how great that would look on a billboard for Adidas.”

“You deserve to be loved.” 

You had picked up your cup to take a drink of water, but upon hearing his words, you slam it down again and rise to your feet. He tracks your every move, as calm as ever.

 “I can’t talk to you right now, Art. You’re being cruel.”

You storm away from the table, only making it a few steps before you hear the scrape of his chair against the floor as he rushes to follow you.

 You’ve only just pushed open the door when he crowds up behind you. 

Art’s hand lands on your back as he guides you outside, his other hand rests on your arm and even after he turns you to face him, his touch remains.

 His hand is wrapped lightly around your arm, the other keeping you close- his palm pressed against your lower back. Anyone watching would think he was drawing you into an embrace. You almost shudder at the contact.

 Patrick has always been handsy, touching and caressing you under the guise of teasing, but Art has always moved around you as though you’ll disintegrate at the lightest touch. The way he’d held your wrist back in the dining hall and how he cradles you now, is the most he’s ever touched you.

 Your chest heaves as your flesh tingles.

Art’s head drops, his eyes on his own hand on your arm, as if he can’t understand why he’s holding you. His voice is strained:

“Patrick isn’t good for her.”

And just like that, you’re slammed mercilessly back down to earth. 

Art wasn’t touching you with tenderness or affection, you were just someone he was holding in place so that you had to hear him out. So you had to hear how much he wanted Tashi. 

“Oh, but I deserve to be thrown at him as a distraction so that you can have her?” You snap at him, more hurt than you’ll ever admit.

“You deserve whatever it is that you actually want.” 

Art sounds frustrated now, not at you…but perhaps at what he knows you won’t say. You do want Patrick. But you also want him. You had just never considered that he knew that.

But that’s not what you say. Instead you say–

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Do you want to know why he isn’t good for her?” Art presses, entirely unaffected by your fury.

“No, but I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”

The hand on your back pulls you a little closer, one errant blonde curl falls down from his forehead and brushes your temple. His breath is hot against your cheek. 

“Patrick’s not good for her-“ Art begins, his tone becoming embittered. “Because he wants you. He always has.” 

You rip free from Art’s grip with such force that the friction of it burns, his fingerprints leaving red marks on your arm. “You are unbelievable!” 

“I’m not lying. You know I wouldn’t, not to you.”

“You will say anything to have her won’t you?” You laugh nastily. “What’s the plan, Art? Do you think that I’ll try and seduce Patrick away from her now, leaving a space open for you to swoop in?” 

“Ask me how I know.”

“No.” You spit back at him. 

But you don’t move. 

Your body waits for words that your mind doesn’t think it can handle hearing. Something feels so close to breaking and you can’t help but feel like it’s to do with whatever force binds the four of you together. 

Art steps forward, closing the distance again, he raises his hands and rests them on either side of your neck, his thumbs pressing onto where your pulse is ratcheting beneath your fragile skin. 

“I know he wants you, because the night after he won our match- when he won Tashi’s number- he told me that I should fuck you.”

“Art.” You warn, frustrated tears bringing horrible pressure behind your eyes.

A small group comes out of the dining hall and have to split down the middle, because neither of you move a muscle. Art’s hold tightens, like he’s trying to leave a permanent imprint behind without it hurting you. 

He whispers now. “Patrick told me to fuck you. And I know him. He said that because when he couldn't have you, it excited him to think that I would. That I'd tell him about sleeping with you.”

“That was such a long time ago.” You say shakily, coming completely unmoored.

But Art won’t let it go.

“He still looks at you the same way, and that’s not fair to Tashi. You want to protect her, right? Well what will it do her when she finally notices the way her boyfriend is constantly eye-fucking her best friend?”

You hit out against his chest with a closed fist. The shock more than the force makes him stagger back. 

“You are so fucked in the head! You and Patrick are both pathetic little leeches who want the same girl, but can’t cope with the way it’s made them realise that they also want each other. You know what? I actually think so much would be solved, if you and Patrick just fucked each other!”

You start to back away and Art darts forward, trying to grab you again, but you smack his hand away and turn your back.

“Leave me alone, Art! And leave me out of your shit!”

He calls out your name with ragged desperation, but he does not follow. And even though he’s truly made your skin crawl, something about that makes you even more furious. 

Why won’t he follow you? 

Why do you still want him to?

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

You hadn’t spoken to any of them since your argument with Art. 

You couldn’t cope with the realisation that if any of them ever did feel any desire for you, it was only because they saw you as some sort of vessel through which they could access parts of the person that they truly wanted.  

You couldn’t even be said to exist in Tashi’s shadow anymore, you had simply been subsumed by it. Those two men, who you both despised and wanted desperately, would never see you, not really. To them, you were just part of her. But you would not let them ruin your friendship with Tashi. You just wouldn’t.

You knew when you arrived to watch her match that something wasn’t right. She was upset. You could see it in all the minutiae of her: in the way she took off her hoodie, in the way she picked up her racket. Something was really wrong. 

You walk through the stands until you come across Art. 

There are two free spaces to the right of him, so you sit down on the one furthest away, leaving a gap in the middle for Patrick to take up when he arrives. But then time passes and the match approaches and he still hasn’t materialised. 

You feel Art staring long before he makes his move. The air shifts as he shuffles over into the seat directly beside you.

“That seat is taken.” You intone harshly. Your eyes are fixed on Tashi as she prepares. 

“If it was, I wouldn’t have been able to sit in it.” 

“Sorry, I should have been clearer. I don’t want you anywhere near me, so I want Patrick to sit there instead of you.”

Your name is a tentative as he speaks it. “Will you please look at me? I can’t handle you not looking at me.”

Your gaze remains set on Tashi, she looks up and finds you in the crowd. The furious divot between her brow eases for a moment before her eyes snag on the way that Art is leaning into you. She turns her back on the entire crowd, but you know the gesture is meant for you alone. 

Fuck. What the hell had happened overnight? If it was Art’s meddling, you’d kill him. 

“The match is about to start.” You say coldly. 

 Art’s hand lands on your knee, but when you flinch, he immediately pulls it away. 

“I know I hurt you and I’m sorry. I- I need you to forgive me.”

You grit your teeth at his audacity. “Why do you need me to, Art?”

“Because I can’t stand the thought of you not being in my li-“

The match begins and Art never gets to finish his sentence. 

In fact, you don’t speak to him properly for almost a decade after that. Because Tashi gets hurt. Her sporting career ends in the blink of an eye and takes your friendship with it.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

Both you and Art had sprinted down onto the court, your heart breaking in your chest as you fell to your knees beside your best friend, tears gathering in her eyes as she whimpered in pain. 

What had hurt the most though, was the way Tashi had shoved your hand away when you had tried to comfort her.

“Don’t touch me!” She had barked on a ragged breath. “Get away from me. Get away!” 

The hatred had dripped from her words and landed on you like a corrosive liquid. And as it had burned down to the bone, you had looked at Art and the apologetic agony with which he’d regarded you—even as he’d cradled Tashi’s head in his hands—told you what he’d done.  

He’d not only told you about Patrick’s supposed lust for you, but he’d also told Tashi. He had told her that even after her now boyfriend had won her number, he’d apparently been thinking about fucking you. Art had also definitely shared his little insight that Patrick didn’t love her either, which you quickly worked out had contributed to his absence.

So Art got what he wanted: he finally had his hands on Tashi and he’d done it by carving you and Patrick away. 

Art Donaldson was an attentive, gentle, even needy man, but you had been so stupid to think that meant he couldn’t also be calculated and cruel. Because of course he was. What else could win the heart of Tashi Duncan but brutal passion? It was part of what she loved about tennis: the unforgiving force of hits that once you met them, somehow felt like affection.

When Patrick had tracked an injured Tashi down, still waiting to be taken to hospital, he had been ordered away by both her and Art.

You knew that because he’d just told you. It was the first thing he’d said to you when you’d let him into your room fifteen minutes earlier.

Now, you were both sitting on the scratchy carpet of your dorm, passing a bottle of vodka between the two of you. 

You felt bereft. Your body wracked with sympathetic pain for the grief in your mind. You’d lost Tashi today, you knew that. And the man that had caused it, was a man you’d spent years yearning for. 

Art hadn’t only taken Tashi from you, but he’d violently ripped himself away too.

“Art wasn’t lying.” Patrick grumbles after taking another hearty gulp of vodka. 

“Please, don’t.” You beg wearily, taking the vodka from his outstretched hand and pressing it to your lips. Not even the burn of the spirit going down your throat registers.

“I wanted- want, both of you. You and Tashi.” 

He isn’t drunk, only tipsy, but he’s getting there, and his words are sluggish, laced with fury. 

“Shut up, Patrick.”

You fall down onto your back, resting the vodka bottle on your stomach, holding it by the neck as you stare up at the ceiling. 

Patrick has been sitting opposite you, but he moves languidly forward, crawling up over your body. He braces one knee beside your hip as the other slots between your legs. 

You blink up at him as one of his hands rests beside your head and the other falls over your own where it still holds the vodka bottle. You let him take it from you, placing it beside your body before the hand then moves to rest on the other side of your head. 

You’re now trapped beneath him, his lithe body hovering just above yours.

When he leans in, his alcoholic breath almost sears your skin as his lips brushed the shell of your ear. 

“Sometimes, when we were fucking I would imagine that you were with us.” Patrick’s teeth nip at your ear. “I asked her once, you know, and she slapped me. Called me a pig. I think she was just mad because she liked having you to herself. You were such a devoted acolyte, kissing the ground she walked on—“

Fury bursts within you like a solar flare, red-hot and ruinous. He was talking about her in the past tense, as if she was dead to both of you already.

Art groans in pain when you knee him in the balls. You use the chance to shove him off you and he falls to the side, knocking the bottle of vodka over. 

As you stand up, you feel the alcohol seeping into the carpet at your feet. 

“You are a pig.” You hiss down at him.

 It’s your room, but you find yourself storming towards the door. 

You don’t get far before Patrick recovers, clambering to his feet and easily closing the distance with his long legs. 

You groan in frustration as he presses you into the door, one hand above your head and the other wrapping around your torso, his fingers dangerously close to brushing your breasts over your tank top. 

“If I’m a pig, why did you let me in?” He pressed his face into your neck and breathes you in.

 Some of the vodka has evidently soaked into his shirt, because the scent seizes you with the same violence with which he had. It’s a secondary intoxication. 

You words come out weakly, and you hate that it’s because you’re using so much energy fighting the urge to press back into him:

“I felt sorry for you.”

Patrick laughs. 

The smug bastard actually laughs right into your skin, the vibrations travelling all the way down to where your body has begun to ache the most. 

“Oh, sure.” He coos patronisingly. “It definitely wasn’t because you’ve wanted to fuck me for years.”

You should fight him, but you don’t want to. 

You should protest when the hand that he has pressed to the door moves to pull down one of the straps of your tank top. But you simply don’t want to.  You want him. 

Art had been right about both of you.

No sooner has the thin strip of fabric been removed from your shoulder, than Patrick is clamping his teeth down on the exposed flesh. You yelp in surprise, the pain a burst of sordid pleasure. 

Patrick laughs again, the hand he has pressed to your stomach pulling you flush against him. You can feel his need for you pressing into your backside, but in case you had somehow missed it, he bucks his hips up into you. 

You gasp and he laughs again, his tongue now running over the aggravated skin where his teeth have left a dent.

“We both know what this is.” He goads.

“And what is it?” You ask teasingly, your head now thrown back and resting against his chest. He groans into your neck as you grind yourself back onto him. 

“Inevitable.”

“Are you just doing this to get back at them?” You ask, not daring to speak their names. 

An angry grumble you can’t quite make sense of tears out of Patrick’s throat just before he is forcefully spinning you around. 

You get barely a glimpse of his feral smirk before he is easily picking you up again and throwing you over his shoulder. The slap he delivers to your ass is punishing and stings furiously as he practically throws you down onto the carpet.

The bed is right next to you, but the asshole apparently wants you on the scratchy carpet and with a wet patch where the vodka has soaked in.

“I’m doing this, because I have wanted to fuck you, from the moment I saw you dancing at that party.”

 You’ve barely got your breath back after being thrown about, when he is grabbing your calf and yanking you down so that you’re laying completely flat beneath him. 

“But you only ever pursued Tash-“ 

He cuts you off from saying her name by leaning down and pressing his mouth to your still clothed breast. His tongue swirls over the fabric, your nipple growing pert. 

When his knee presses up between your legs, parting them forcefully, your head falls back, strands of your hair wetted by the spilt alcohol. 

When Patrick bites down on your chest far too hard, your hand instinctively comes up to slap the side of his head.

 You’re so shocked by your own burst of violence that you go still at exactly the same time as Patrick, both of you breathing furiously. When he does peer up at you, his dark curls slick against his increasingly sweaty forehead, menace dances in his eyes. 

“Do that again.” 

You wish you could have feigned confusion or indignation for even a moment, but your blood is pumping to all the right places to urge you to make terrible, delightful decisions.

 Your second slap connects cleanly with his cheek, your palm tingling with the force as his head spins to the side. 

Your handprint is already a pink mark on his skin when he wraps his arms around your torso, lifting you up just enough so that he can pull your tank top off and throw it to the side. Your chest is left bare to him and he wastes no time before peppering kisses to your sternum, to your breasts and your neck, his arms still wrapped around you, his nails digging into your back. 

The throbbing ache between your legs becomes far too much to bear, so you curl your fingers into his hair and forcefully tug him away from your chest- a bead of saliva stretching between your flushed skin to his swollen lips. 

You lean your head forward, taking his bottom lip between your teeth and biting, pulling at it until he groans pathetically. You let him go, beyond pleased when you don’t have to tell him what you want next. 

You don’t want to wait any longer. You haven’t slept with anyone since you met him and Art. 

Art.

 Is it wrong that as Patrick pushes your back into the carpet and pulls down your sweatpants and underwear in one clean tug, that you close your eyes and briefly imagine that it’s Art instead?

You might have found an answer if you had more time, but when you open your eyes, Patrick is over you, his shorts and boxers already discarded alongside your clothes. His shirt is still on, but neither of you have the patience for the second or so it would take to get it off him. 

Patrick smirks down at you before pressing two of his fingers into your mouth, you open gladly, your eyes locked onto each other as he swirls them around. When he’s satisfied, he pulls his fingers out, and then licks his own hand, mixing himself with you. 

He swipes his wet hand over your already slick core a few times before he’s pressing himself inside of you. Your arms curl around his neck as you wrap your legs around his waist. 

“Fuck.” He groans, his tongue licking up the side of your neck as his hips begin to move. 

“Patrick.” You plead, your fingers digging into the nape of his neck. 

He knows what you want, nipping at your neck before he is driving into you with bruising force. 

In that moment, as you’re joined in the way you’ve wanted since the moment you’ve set eyes on him, you realise thar Tashi isn’t the only person that can make you feel real. 

As Patrick drives into you–his lips and teeth leaving marks on your flesh that will be wine-dark by morning, and the horrible fabric beneath you leaving carpet burn on your back– you finally know more than tennis can make you feel alive. 

The sex is forceful and punishing, but fuelled by a genuine passion. Nothing but your intermingled breaths and the sound of your joined bodies fills the room. 

If the two of you hadn’t been so lost to your pleasure, you might have heard Art knocking on your door. But you didn’t. 

He did however hear the two of you, so he walked away. 

You wouldn’t speak to him or Tashi again for over ten years.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

You weren’t in New Rochelle to compete. You didn’t need to. You were on the top of your game, ranked the third best female player in the world. 

No, you were in New York because despite your better judgement-- and the many years that had passed since you’d last seen him--when Patrick Zweig had called you, you’d answered. 

You hadn’t heard his voice since you had told him that for your own sanity, you couldn’t see him anymore.

For the two years you had been together after Tashi had banished you both from her life, you had let Patrick consume you. And you had never played tennis so poorly in your life. 

You hated what that said about you, that you had willingly discarded someone you had genuinely cared for to improve your ability to hit a ball. But hitting that ball was what kept you alive, not him. 

Not only that, it hadn’t taken you long to realise that you didn’t love Patrick enough to let him affect your career.

And yet when he had called, you’d answered. And when he’d told you that Art Donaldson had entered the Challenger as a wildcard, you both knew that you would come. 

From the moment you had booked the flight, to the first step you’d taken into the hotel, you had lied to yourself that you were only coming for the closure that you hadn’t received as a twenty year old. 

But when you stepped into the hotel lobby and saw Tashi disappearing into the nearby elevator, your self-deception shattered. 

You were here because still, after all the time that had passed, you ached for the way that you had felt when she had been in your life. You missed her. And you had missed Art. 

It was a sickening truth of your life, that while no one had fucked with your head or upset you as much as Art had ended up doing, no one else had ever been so attentive to you either. 

Art had watched you—watched out for you—even when you weren’t playing tennis. In fact, in moments of utter stillness, when you had been doing nothing even remotely remarkable, was when you had always caught him staring. He never shied away, or broke his gaze when he was caught, he’d just smiled as if he wanted you to know he would never feel shame for being found looking at you. 

And that had not changed.

You have been sitting at the hotel bar for ten minutes, feeling sorry for yourself and nursing the same glass of gin and tonic, when you feel someone looking at you. 

You turn your head cautiously, your shoulders sagging as your eyes meet Art’s. He’s sitting on one of the small leather couches tucked into the far corner of the darkened room. 

It had been an inevitability, but things would have been so much easier if you never came across him. 

You know you shouldn’t move- part of you had come for closure and you could get that just by watching him compete tomorrow, so you don’t need to talk to him. 

But then Art tilts his head and smiles at you like no time has passed and pats his hand on the unoccupied space beside him on the couch. 

You get down off the barstool.

 As you approach, he watches unflinchingly.

The last time you had heard Art’s voice, was when Tashi had suffered her injury and he’d been permitted to stay by her side when she had ordered you away.

And yet even after so much time, when he greets you with a quiet ‘hello’, the pathetic girl who had pined after him returns.

You don’t respond as you come to a stop right in front of him, the tips of your heels right against the toes of his shoes, but you make no move to sit down. 

It’s of course not the first time you’ve seen him since college, or been at the same event, or even in the same room- you’re both highly successful tennis players, you couldn’t help but overlap sometimes. But neither of you have ever allowed yourselves to get close, or to even speak. 

It has been over ten years of your eyes connecting through crowds and across rooms that felt much larger than they were, simply because there was distance between the two of you within them. 

Art sits forward, his forearms resting on his knees. He’s fiddling with his wedding ring and you can’t bear to look at the familiar way his fingers carry out the gesture. 

When he looks up at you, it's so open and wanting that you almost turn right back around. But then you hear his voice again.

“Can I ask you to sit with me?” 

“I don’t know Art, can you?” 

He smiles, sighing softly as he runs his hand through his hair. It’s short- much shorter than the curls he’d had at college. You like it. It suits him. 

You shift on your feet, crossing your arms across your chest to cover up your nerves. Perhaps you can protect yourself if you look like you’re closed off from him and from…whatever this interaction is about to be. 

Art doesn’t say anything else, but he surprises you by rising to his feet. You stagger back, but his hand reaches out and lands on your side to steady.

His touch lingers for a moment too long, but he does eventually pull it away.

 But he’s still close, too close.

Your hands have fallen to your sides, so it is too easy for Art to reach out and brush his fingers against yours. He doesn’t intertwine them, but he’s doing enough to let you know that it’s what he wants to do. 

He whispers your name. “Will you please sit with me?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Art.” 

“When have you ever known me to have one of those?” 

You smile ruefully, but take a step back. His hand chases you, his fingers brushing against yours again as he tries to take your hand. 

“It’s been a long time since I’ve known anything about you.” You say, hating how sad it sounds. 

You should be angry at least. His meddling and his desire for Tashi is what ripped you all apart. And he has her now. They have a daughter together.

He doesn't get to ask you for anything, not even if it’s just to sit with him. 

You can’t trust yourself to sit next to him. 

“You do know me. Time can’t change that.” He insists, quietly but firmly. 

You scoff nastily. “I knew Art Donaldson when he was in college. The world famous tennis player who does AD campaigns for sports cars with his wife, is a stranger to me.” 

“Yeah.” Art laughs darkly. “He’s a stranger to me too.” 

You frown at him, growing angry. He seems exhausted and down-trodden. He’s clearly hurting and you hate that you know that—you hate that you‘d been able to tell that even from across the bar—because it means that he’s right: you do still know him. 

“It’s late, Art. You should get some rest. Big day tomorrow.”

You turn away from him and while he doesn’t reach for you this time, he does call out. You keep you back to him as he asks his question. 

“Who do you want to win, me or Patrick?” 

“Tennis can’t decide a victor between the two of you, Art. It’s never been able to.”

When you walk to the elevator, you feel a physical strain as you stop yourself from looking back at him.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

You were right, tennis couldn’t decide on a winner: it was as fickle and incomprehensible as the human heart. Which was fitting, seeing as Tashi had always described tennis as a relationship. 

You had sat only two places away from her during Patrick and Art’s match, and you know she had seen you. But there had been no reaction, her face had been impassive and set on the court, her eyes hidden behind a large pair of sunglasses. 

Now, the match was long over and a result had been given. And yet there hadn’t been a victory for anyone. Just like you knew there wouldn’t be.

Something had happened on that court between the two men, some silent, inexplicable exchange that had altered the very fabric of them.

This time, when Art knocks on your door, not only do you hear it, but you answer. 

You feel almost shocked when you pull open the door to reveal him, dressed in a grey t-shirt and flannel pyjama trousers. You’re surprised at the sight as if you hadn’t known he was coming- as if you hadn’t readily offered up your room number when he had messaged and asked for it.

You’re also somehow certain that Patrick had given him your number, but you didn’t want to dwell on what sort of exchange had led to him handing it over.

Without a word, you step away from the door, self-consciously tightening the cord that holds the silk robe around your body. You stop and face the windows.

The curtains are drawn, by you stare forward as though the whole skyline is on display to you. 

The door to your room clicks shut.

You hear Art take off his shoes before his feet are padding towards you. 

When his arms wrap around your waist, you close your eyes and savour the sensation. He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, so you lift a hand and rest it on the side of his head. 

“I want to retire at the end of this year.” He says and you can feel his exhaustion in the slow breaths that coast over your neck. 

“So retire.” You answer softly, your eyes still on the curtains. “You’re tired.”

You know you don’t need to clarify. Thanks to the grateful press of his lips against your neck, you know he understands what you mean. 

Art is weary of all that he has to be when he’s playing tennis; he’s tired of the effort it takes to play the sport for not just him, but for Tashi too. His wife has been living vicariously through him. He’s been living for two people, taking the strain of two professional athletes combined. 

You know there had never been any point in competing with Art or Patrick, because Tashi would always love tennis the most. 

A shiver wracks your body as Art’s hand reaches for the bow that’s keeping your otherwise bare body concealed from him.

 “Can I?” His request is whined into your hair as he presses his face into the back of your head. 

Instead of answering verbally, you nudge his hand away and untie the robe yourself. Then, you take hold of both of his wrists and guide his hands onto your skin. You let out a sigh of relief when Art finally touches you the way you want him to. 

Your hands are still on him as his fingers move to cup your breasts, but he is the one guiding his movements now. He squeezes, his thumbs brushing over your nipples. 

“Art.” You rasp, pressing back into him wantonly. 

“Can I have you?” He asks, pressing open mouthed, hot kisses to your neck as he palms your breasts. “Please, let me have you.” 

“Stop fucking asking me and just do it.” 

You feel him grin against your neck just before he backs away, pulling back your robe and tugging it from your body.

The fabric has barely had time to pool at your feet when he’s grabbing you by the hips, his fingers digging in as he turns you. 

When Art’s lips finally claim yours, you moan unashamedly. His kiss is gentle but assured, you struggle for breath as he refuses to release you. Then, his hands are cupping your ass and he’s lifting you up. 

With his lips still moving hungrily against yours, Art settles you onto the edge of the bed. When he draws back, your lips chase after him and he smiles, grasping your face in his hands and giving you one more brief but searing kiss before he’s dropping to the ground.

 His hands press into your knees, forcing them apart as he begins to kiss and lick up your inner thighs. 

You prop yourself up on your elbows, watching where his mouth ravenously meets your flesh, tracing his path as he works his way closer to where you want him most.

When he reaches the top of your thigh, Art peers up at you through his long eyelashes, already looking drunk on you as he presses another kiss to your burning skin. 

“Lay back.” He instructs gently. 

But you’re too transfixed to listen- too desperate to see the moment his lips land on your core to look away.

He smiles at the realisation, delighting in your shudder as his tongue darts out and licks a line up your centre. 

“Oh my- fuck!” Your head falls back, already lost in the feeling of his mouth's devoted ministrations. 

As Art pleasures you, one of his hands skates up your stomach and gently presses down, asking rather than forcing you to lay back. This time you oblige, your eyes closed as your hands fist in the sheets. 

“You deserve so much more than I can give you.” 

You smile to yourself. Only Art could grovel as he gives so much pleasure.

Tightness begins to coil in your lower belly, but the moment he adds a teasing finger to his tongue’s movements, you realise you can’t wait. 

“Art- stop.” You gasp out, sitting up and resting your hands on his head. 

He halts immediately but doesn’t remove himself from between your legs. 

“Are you alright?” He asks, his hands rubbing soothingly along your thighs. 

“It’s not enough.” You say, tugging on his hair, trying to get him to come to you. “I need you.” 

Art doesn’t have to be asked twice, but he also doesn’t rush. He presses one last kiss to your now very sensitive folds before he’s climbing over you. 

You shuffle back, settling yourself onto the middle of the bed and even as Art takes off his clothes, he watches you. It’s as if he’s afraid that you’ll disappear if he so much as blinks. 

Now completely naked, he lays himself over you, his arms braced beside your head. He positions himself so carefully thar it’s almost as though he’s trying to fit himself to the shape of you- every divot and curve perfectly aligned sp that you’ll be fused together forever. 

As Art sweeps hair out from your face, his blue eyes bore down into you with an adoring intensity. 

You smile up at him and he rewards you by cradling your face in his hands, he lowers his head, his nose brushing yours as he gently takes your lower lip between his teeth.

Only when you understand what he wants and you open your mouth, does he kiss you again, his tongue delving in deeply.

As he seeks to consume you, your hands run down his back, squeezing his sides with your thighs. 

Art’s still kissing you as one of your hands reaches the curve of his arse, you dig your nails in and he jolts, his mouth moving away from yours and travelling down your neck. 

Tentatively, you move one hand around and down between his legs and when your hand wraps around him, he falters, his kisses stopping. 

“Is this alright?” 

Art moves again, licking the sweat slick expanse of skin between your breasts.

“Anything you do will be alright.” He assures, his lips brushing a nipple and making your back arch. 

“Do you want to have sex, Art?” You ask, barely restraining yourself.

His breaths are hot against your sensitive breasts when he answers. “Please.”

It is a joint effort as he slides inside of you. You gasp, arms wrapping around his neck as he presses kisses into yours.

Art groans as he begins to move achingly slowly, his hips rolling over yours with precision. 

You're happy like that for a few minutes, both of you revelling in your closeness after years subjected to absent desire for one another. But eventually, you want more.

You yearn for more force and luckily as you buck up into him, Art gets the message.

 As one of his hands moves behind your head, cradling it so that he can keep kissing you, the other wraps around your thigh, and pulls your leg higher over his hip, allowing himself to get even deeper. 

“You’re so beautiful.” He says in-between sloppy kisses, moving rapidly as you moan and whine. “You’ve always been so beautiful.”

Even with him inside you, making you feel more desired than anyone ever has, your mind drifts to that first night you had met him. The first night you had met Patrick. 

“You stared at Tashi.” You say.

You aren’t accusatory or upset, if anything the acknowledgement if it turns you on more. All four of you have always had a desire for the other, and it feels powerful to finally acknowledge it.

“-That night on the beach, you couldn't take your eyes off her. Neither of you could.” 

“I wanted you.” Art asserts with a particularly powerful thrust. “I- I wanted you so badly, but you went home.”

You nod, pulling him in for another kiss as you meet his thrusts. 

You understand his thinking. You’d often wondered how things might have changed had you not gone home early that night. If you’d stayed on the beach and then gone to their hotel room along with Tashi. 

Entirely content with just moving as one, you both fall silent and somehow Art curls over you even more tightly, like he wants his whole body to hide yours from the world. 

After you’ve both found your release he takes you into the shower and cleans himself off of your sensitive skin, each swipe of the washcloth accompanied by a kiss.

It ends up being time wasted though, because when you return to the bed, he takes you twice more.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

You wake up with Art’s head resting on your bare chest. He’s laying on his side, one arm stretched out on the pillow above your head and his other hand resting on your hip. 

You’re sore in the most pleasant of ways as you sit up. You try to move slowly but Art stirs anyway, his head turning to press open mouthed kisses to your sternum. 

You rest your hand on his cheek, meaning to guide him away, but he moves so that he can kiss the palm of your hand instead. 

It’s only when you sigh into his touch, his eyes still closed as his other hand delves between your legs, that you realise why you had woken up int he first place. 

Someone was knocking on your door. 

And then you hear her voice. 

Tashi is calling out your name, sounding almost panicked.

 “Please, open the door, I know you’re in there.”

This time when you push Patrick away, he obliges, but far less quickly than you would have liked.

 In the time it takes for you to throw on your silk robe and gather up all of his clothes from the floor, he has barely got himself to stand up. He’s naked and blinking sleepily at you. 

When you shove the bundle of his clothes into his arms, he rushes to press a passionate kiss to your lips, holding the back of your head with his free hand.

You aren’t sure you want to know whether he’s truly still half asleep and genuinely hasn’t realised what is happening, or if he just doesn’t care that his wife is outside the door.

Flushed but furious at his casual demeanour, you push Art into the bathroom and close the door, just as Tashi knocks again.

 The repeated request for you to come to the door tumbles from her lips like a prayer.

You brace your hand against the door as you draw in a fortifying breath and smooth out your hair. You swear you can feel her through the door. 

The moment you open the door, Tashi is bursting in and closing it behind her. You step back, waiting for her to make the first move, for her to shout of attack or go charging into the bathroom. But she does none of those things. 

Instead, Tashi pulls you into a crushing hug. You go still, shocked but healed by it at the same time.

She pulls back, taking your face in her hands.

 “You’re a phenomenal tennis player.” Tashi says it rapturously. 

If you weren’t burning up at the feel of her hands on you, you might have laughed at how ridiculously perfect it was that those were her first words to you after over a decade. 

Tashi communicated and connected through tennis. She loved through tennis.

All you can muster is a very sincere: “Thank you.”

Tashi brushes your hair out of your face, tucking a stray piece behind your ear. You find your hands lifting, resting atop hers where they hold your cheeks.

“You need to let me coach you.” Tashi demands almost possessively.

“I have a coach.”

“They’re not me.”

“No, they’re not.”

And just like that, you were snared again. 

You had gone years without any of them, and with one word, you had allowed all three of them back into your life.

 Only this time, you know it might actually kill you if any of them leave. And perhaps it would kill them too. 

Only time would tell.

chapter fourteen | your love is not too kind

masterlist | ↢ previous chapter | next chapter ↣

Over the Garden Wall - Masterlist

Benedict Bridgerton x Princess!Reader

18+

Summary: The youngest daughter of Queen Charlotte and King George, plagued by the same illness as her father, grows tired of her lonely and isolated existence. When escaping the prison-like castle she has been sequestered in for her entire life, she meets a young man who shares her love for painting and whom she can not stop thinking about. Secrets, betrayal, and love all fight against one another. Which one will win?

Series Warnings: Love at first sight; POV third person; eventual smut; isolation; dramatic/inaccurate depictions of mental illness; thoughts of death; there will be fluff, okay? I swear; potential historical inaccuracies; complex mother/daughter relationship; historical medical practices; SIMP Benedict; idgaf about historical canon; complicated sibling relationships; execution by hanging

Tags specified before each chapter

(Tags will be updated as the story continues)

Last Updated: 03/28/24 (Complete)

*indicates smut

Chapter One - Loathing Boredom

Chapter Two - Ruinous Secrets

Chapter Three - Never is a Promise

Chapter Four - As the Poets Say

Chapter Five - Vagrant Body

Chapter Six - Codes and Clues

Chapter Seven - Dig My Fingers in

Chapter Eight - No Light of My Own

Chapter Nine - This Sweet Plague *

Chapter Ten - Tricked By the Past

Chapter Eleven - No Label, No Name

Chapter Twelve - Keeping Time

Chapter Thirteen - Only You Can Mend

Chapter Fourteen - Not Above Violence

Interlude - Lady Whistledown

Chapter Fifteen - Matching Wounds

Chapter Sixteen - Go Along to Be With You

Chapter Seventeen - Balanced on Desire

Interlude - Marietta

Chapter Eighteen - Oh, My One

Chapter Nineteen - Like Fuel to Fire *

Chapter Twenty - If I Send for You

Interlude - Honeymoon *

Chapter Twenty One - An Atom and a Star

Chapter Twenty Two - The Bed I Was Born In *

Chapter Twenty Three - Don't Wait to Understand

Chapter Twenty Four - Fingers Laced a Crown

Chapter Twenty Five - Here to Kingdom Come *

Epilogue - A Moment, A Love

Drabble - Pall Mall Drabble - Picnic Drabble - Like Mother, Like Son Drabble - Jealousy Drabble - More Than a Maid Drabble - Coronation Day Drabble - Second Son Drabble - Number Four Drabble - Reasonably Unreasonable Drabble - Tag, You're It Drabble - Sisters Drabble - Spoiled Drabble - Opal of the Season Drabble - Fit for Family Drabble - Garden in Bloom * (smut adjacent) Drabble - What if? AU

omg the way i sat and read everything in pretty much one day😭 this was perfect like everything about it was perfect! especially the development of the plot, ugh i love it🩷

the pro

Pairing: Art Donaldson x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only. minors, please get off my lawn.

Notes: My brain chose violence this morning. Not beta-read because when is it ever.

Length: 4.8K

Warnings: Slow burn; unhappily married reader; divorced Art Donaldson; infidelity; oral sex (female receiving); vaginal sex; unsafe sex

Summary: Every lesson becomes an exercise in self-control. You force yourself to try, really try, and not make silly mistakes for the sake of Art coming closer, grasping your arm or elbow, pressing close and redirecting your swing. You don’t know what you crave more these days: his praise or his touch.

He's the biggest men's tennis star since Andy Roddick.

That’s what your husband says, as if it’ll entice you. As if you know anything about tennis, about the pro that your husband says will be coming to the house to teach you to play.

It’ll be good for you. You need a hobby. 

You don’t gripe or argue. You don’t tell him that five months into your marriage shouldn’t have you looking for a new hobby. You should still be in the honeymoon stage, spending all of your time with him, hanging off of his arm, off of his every word. But he works so much and he’s away so often—

I don’t want you to get bored. 

It’s a sweet gesture. The maid handles the housework; you have a chef that handles most of the grocery shopping and cooking, unless you insist on making something yourself; you have a housekeeper that arranges for anything you need—dry cleaning, maintenance. And it’s no wonder that with all of his money, his power, he can just order a retired pro tennis player up to your house, like you’d order a pizza. There’s a tennis court in the back of the mansion, a few feet from the pool. You’ll get some new outfits, the best sneakers, the nicest rackets. You’ll finally have something to do to fill your days. 

Art Donaldson. 

— THE GIFT

PAIRING — Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Reader

SUMMARY — You were born to be Feyd-Rautha's wife. You arrive to Giedi Prime to get adjusted to the new environment before your wedding. Your betrothed is trying to court you properly... but he only knows The Harkonnen ways of doing so.

REQUEST — (1)

AUTHOR’S NOTE — After a whole month of writing Thrown To The Wolves, I felt weird writing something with Feyd with a different Reader and a different plot. 🙈 But at the same time I was excited to explore a new scenario. 😄

WARNINGS — arranged marriage, blood, death

WORD COUNT — 3,700

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

Feyd Fantasy 7: The Finale

Label mature 18+

Honor & Heir

Summary

Feyd starts a war on Arrakis to gain final control over the Spice fields. He wants to finally free its massive profits to House Harkonnen and become the wealthiest family in the galaxy for you and his heir.

During your final month of pregnancy you and Feyd are summoned to the Emperors palace on the planet Kaitain by decree. Feyd is upset at any inconveniences to you with his unborn during this fragile time.

You reunite with your Reverend Mother in the palatial gardens and a fated decision must be made. The stress of the decision is so great you go into labor. For Feyd his world stops. He drops all of his responsibilities with the Emperor to be by your side.

Starts off Princess treatment romantic Ends with Feyds reign & birth of your child

⚠️Hard Core Smut⚠️

simultaneous self pleasure•size kink•fingering •handjob•forced orgasms•sex while sleeping•sex while injured•face sitting• submission •cum eating•thigh pinning• manhandling • position switching • body worship•multiple orgasms

⚔️ Feyd Fantasy Series ⚔️

Part 1•Part 2•Part 3•Part 4•Part 5•Part 6•Part 7 ⚔️ Feyd Fantasy Chapter 1-6 Recap 📖 All Genre Masterlist

— THROWN TO THE WOLVES (X)

PART ONE || PART TWO || PART THREE PART FOUR || PART FIVE || PART SIX PART SEVEN || PART EIGHT || PART NINE

PAIRING — Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Reader // Atreides!OC

SUMMARY — Muad'Dib's forces attack the palace during the imperial visit on Arrakis. The new Baroness Harkonnen must face her past and choose her future.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — It’s written as an usual x Reader fic without describing anything about the Reader’s looks but I still classified it as an OC as well since she is Paul Atreides’ half-sister. A month ago (March 6th) I went to the cinema to watch Dune: Part Two and I stayed up until 3am to write the very first chapter of this fic despite having morning classes on the next day. 🙈 I couldn't have known back then what a journey this would be and how many lovely and amazing readers would be so engaged in this story! 💕 This is the final part – but I am willing to write additional one-shots with these characters in the future. Thank you everyone who suggested me the baby names. I went with the idea commented by @alexandrainlove since it made sense to me due to the fact I have already used the name before in this fic. I loved all your recommendations, though! 🥰 Also, I want to credit @houserautha for pointing out that the thick Harkonnen blood (as I have described it in this fic) would actually be an advantage in combat because it would make bleeding out to death more difficult. I know some of you might be disappointed or sad about some events in the last chapter – I decided to go with my original plan for it because, at the end of the day, I can't possibly please everyone anyway. I loved all your ideas and assumptions, though, they made me rethink my plans many times. Love you! 💗

WARNINGS — arranged marriage, blood, violent behaviour, death, murder, childbirth

WORD COUNT — 12,780 (😳)

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

can’t wait for may 9 so that way i can say “may thy 9th chip and shatter.”

— THROWN TO THE WOLVES (IX)

PART ONE || PART TWO || PART THREE PART FOUR || PART FIVE || PART SIX PART SEVEN || PART EIGHT

PAIRING — Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Reader // Atreides!OC

SUMMARY — Feyd-Rautha focuses on bringing back the spice production to full efficency while his wife plots against The Baron. The ghosts of her past are haunting her in the Arrakeen Palace where her family lived and died.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — It’s written as an usual x Reader fic without describing anything about the Reader’s looks but I still classified it as an OC as well since she is Paul Atreides’ half-sister. This chapter is quite long so I think the next one will be the last...? Of course I am open to write some additional chapters with these characters in the future 👀 Thank you everyone supporting my work 🙏🏻😭 I don't know when I'll post the next / last chapter. Next week I hope but it might take me more time than usual because I have to catch up with uni work finally lol

WARNINGS — arranged marriage, mentions of sexual activities (no actual smut), violent behaviour, death

WORD COUNT — 8,170

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍 |||| Feyd Rautha x reader 

Pairing: Feyd Rautha x reader, Feyd Rautha x black!reader

Summary: On the eve of the psychotic Prince’s birthday, you gruesomely discover the truth about your purpose on Arrakis and how you fit into the beloved prophecy that has muddied the minds of your people. 

Warnings: DUNE PART II SPOILERS, mentions of violence, blood, sexual activity, bloodlines, angst, grief, death, slowburn, enemies to lovers (one sided), mentions of children, Minors DNI,

Taglist: @elf-punk @b-bradshaw @strengthandstay @dreamlandcreations @hellomothermoon @deadpool15 @lov4gor3 @fanfiction-addict22 @ifulovemetakemetothegastation @tian-monique @ertepla @ladyredstar1991 @cage7241 @mbjackie @just-here-to-readd @myheartfollower @just-pure-trash @szapizzapanda @h0neysiba @yourwonderbelle @that-one-spn-girl

Thank you for reading & I hope you enjoyed this series!

__

CHAPTER FOUR

CHIP AND SHATTER

It had been weeks since Feyd discovered Paul Atreides was still alive. 

The only reason why you two had not been to Arrakis was due to the severe sandstorms that threatened the success of the trip. It was as if the universe were protecting Paul and for that, you could not pretend otherwise, you were grateful that the sand was on his side.

Paul had grown to be a central part of your life simply due to his connection with Chani. He was of importance to her, even if she did not admit it fully, so in turn he was of importance to you. You had seen him fight, seen him conquer a grandfather sandworm, there was a sense of strength within him that could not be taught for he had to have been born with that passion inside of him. 

You were concerned Feyd would destroy him. 

Madness is uncontrollable and unpredictable. Even someone with years of experience as a skilled fighter could not outrun a psychotic nature. 

Feyd allowed the news of Paul’s experiences on Arrakis to consume him. Somewhat along the lines of an addiction, he was itching to seek out his next fix. If he was not training, he was hunting, and if he was not hunting then he would spend time little time doting on you. Trying to get back within your good graces after denying your pleas to leave Paul alone. 

His abundance of love for you was not strong enough to remove him from this plan. It was locked inside his head and would not fade until his blade pierced and murdered Atreides skin. It was all he could think about and discuss, the thought of it turning him on and making him more hyperactive in bed. Even within those intimate moments, he knew he was in rocky waters with you, but, he never let that cloud his focus. 

Sitting along the side of the training quarters felt lonely. The room was surrounded by guards, subjects sent to slaughter, and handmaidens who awaited a command. Feyd did not allow you out of his sight since the incident which meant you were forced to watch him train in preparation to kill your friend. Every now and then when a body would fall and blood was spilled, he would look to you in the audience to confirm if he left an impression. You never shied away from his gaze, you would meet his eyes and simply blink in disinterest. He believed this to be a game.

His sinister nature outshined the man he presents himself to be. 

Every day for the last month had been the same. Awaken, be dressed in hued dresses and jewels that resemble royalty, eat after the food has been deemed safe, watch your husband train for hours on end, eat a final meal together, and retire for bed. It was exhausting and nonsensical to the point you worried this would be your fate for the rest of your life. If he kills Paul, there will only be another hyperfixation on the horizon. Something else he would place of importance over you and your future child. 

“Y/N?” He called out, snapping you from your trance. “Are you bored, My Love?” He inquired, inching closer toward you, blood coating his toned body. 

You nodded. “Yes, actually.” Rolling your eyes and crossing your arms in annoyance. 

He chuckled, amused by your brattiness. “What if I told you that I have a surprise for you?” He offered.

“There is no amount of trinkets and jewels that can distract me from what I’ve asked of you.” You snarled, whispering so only he could hear you. “If you will not spare Paul’s life, there is nothing for you or I to discuss.” You got up from your seat, back aching from being in that position for so long. Your handmaidens followed nervously. You began to walk from the audience in hopes of finding anywhere to go that was not here with your husband. 

Feyd grabbed your waist, softly bringing you back to him as if you were a delicate flower. You had grown spoiled and bratty but he secretly was fond of it, since it came from someone he adored. “This is something I know you will enjoy.” He wrapped your hand within his, carefully helping you out of the stands and onto solid ground. 

He commanded the handmaidens to be dismissed for a moment, only allowing the guards to come as they were positioned in front and behind you both. You had no choice in the matter, even though you really wished for nothing more than to go lie down in your chambers. The duration of your walk through the castle, he could not let go of you, believing that the physical affection was enough to make up for what he was doing. 

“How are you feeling today?” He asked, rounding the corner on your stroll. 

You cut your eyes in his direction. “Fine.” 

“So expressive.” He joked. “A step up from yesterday when you would barely acknowledge me.”

“You were the one who said I am beautiful when I am upset.” You argued. 

Feyd grinned. “And I still stand by that sentiment.”

You remained quiet. Soaking in the atmosphere around you as you were wandering into a part of the castle that you had never been to. You wanted to ask what was happening, however, that would require expressing interest and Feyd did not deserve that kind of attention. The two guards who were walking ahead of you both stood at post within the upcoming entryway. One unlocked the door, tucking his set of keys back within his belt. 

“Are you ready?” Feyd asked nearly in excitement. You nodded, confused and unsure of what could be so interesting about a dungeon. He opened the door, loud screams being unleashed from the other side. You jumped in fear, his steady hand resting on your back. “Do not be frightened.” He whispered in your ear, making the hair at the back of your neck stand up. 

As you stepped through the threshold, a bloodied man was hanging against the stone wall within his cell. His arms were shackled above his head, dirt and blood caked on his body. He smelled of death and it made you gag. You took closer steps, squinting to focus your gaze on who it was. The man confined to this cell is the same one who called you a rat during the gladiator fight. The man who you declared would be dealt with when you felt the time was right. His eyes were fixated on you, dressed in traditional Harkonnen clothing, and it was as if fright struck him in the chest. He gasped, unable to take a full breath due to the bruising on his ribs. 

“I told you, I found the piece of shit who poisoned you.” Feyd grinned. “He was proud of what he had done. One of your handmaidens overheard him boasting about it with other guards. They have all since then been dealt with, but this one? I left him just for you.”

You turned to face your husband, raising your brows in disbelief. “This is to make up for your ignorance?” You asked, taking calculated steps closer toward him. “You ignore me, ignore us, for weeks because of this idiotic bloodthirst you have toward Paul Atreides and this,” You point toward the prisoner. “this is what you think will make me happy?”

With careful eyes, you look down at his sheathed dagger hanging from his hips. You snatched it from his side, glancing at how it glistened in the small rays of sunshine peeking into the cell. “Don’t exert yourself.” He warned. 

“You think because you are my husband, I must listen to you?” You hissed. The sound of your heels meeting the floor was all he heard momentarily. With beauty and rage, you approached the prisoner raising the blade above you, and you swiped across his throat. Watching as the blood drained down his neck and over his body. Turning swiftly, you returned the dagger to your husband, unamused by his tricks. “Show me that you care about us and maybe I will be impressed.”

You walked past him, ready to have the guards open the doors, but you were halted at the sound of his voice. “I do not believe it is in your best interest to return to Arrakis with me tomorrow.”

“Excuse me?” You asked, craning your neck to face him. “Dune is my home.”

Your husband faltered. “There may be a war. We do not know if it is safe for you.”

“So you’d much rather leave me here? Unprotected where anyone could do anything to harm me?” Tears began to pool in your eyes but you stopped them. You could not do this here, not now. 

Feyd frowned. “You will be heavily guarded—“

“You will be absent!” You protested. “I do not care how many arguments we have, Feyd, I need you beside me at this time. You are the only protection I have, the only person I have. I am deeply upset with you because I love you so much.”

As much as you tried to stop them, the tears fell in rapid streams that you could not catch in time. Sobs rocking your body to the point that your shoulders were shaking. Feyd brought you closer, wrapping you in his arms, unfazed by the blood now coating you from his training session. Now, only now, did it feel as if he understood what you were going through. 

“I apologize.” He smoothed down your hair. “I’ve been neglecting you terribly. This will all be over soon, Desert Rose.” 

You nodded into his chest. “Please, just, do not leave me here alone. I have felt alone this entire time.”

The rest of the evening was silent between you too. He would hold your hand whenever possible, and wrap his arms around you carefully to let you know that you are loved and cared for. Feyd understood this obsession with Paul was beyond anything logical, however, he knew it would be over within a quick amount of time. He ensured everything was prepared for travel while you rested. Hopefully, you would understand in time why he was doing this, why having Paul as your friend was unimportant to him. 

The trip to Arrakis felt longer than it truly was. You stood alongside the window of the ship, watching as you passed miles upon miles of sand and its worms buried underneath. You craved being home so desperately and now that it was here, you could not ignore the stress within the pit of your stomach. You could hear Feyd nearby, strategizing with his soldiers about the news that came from the Emperor.

The Harkonnen’s were not the only house planning an invasion of Dune. The Emperor and his daughter, Princess Irulan, had arrived a mere hour before you and apparently, he was deeply disturbed that the Fremen threat had not been extinguished. You couldn’t help but let out a smug chuckle at the Emperor’s disdain, you were never enamored with him to begin with.

Arriving in Arrakis did not feel welcoming in the slightest. You felt like the foreigners you used to make fun of. 

You had to remain close to your husband, so speaking with Paul or finding your sister was next to impossible. You’d sneak glances with him, barely nodding to assure the Maud’Dib that you were okay. There were instances where you felt entirely uncomfortable, having to bow in front of the Emperor who called for the erasure of your people truly tested your limitations. You made sure he saw the blue hue of your eyes, that he knew where your heart resided no matter whom you were married to. 

As if matters could not get any worse, any ounce of mercy Feyd might have spared Paul Atreides left immediately as soon as the Baron was killed. His grief was not fully for the Baron, as their relationship had always been strained and unexplainable, it was for his old life. While he wanted and craved power, he knew that heavy is the head that wears the crown. Feyd was now the Baron of Geidi Prime and that brought new fears, hopes, and threats to you and your family. You felt no way about the death of the Baron, only blinking as you witnessed the murder of your oppressor. You wished you could be of comfort to your husband but the opportunity never presented itself. 

You watched as his body language completely changed while he stalked alongside the Emperor. His shoulders were hunched, eyes darker than normal, his sadistic smirk nowhere to be found while the entrance to the throne room grew closer. Feyd was hurt emotionally with no way to account for it or even begin to explain it. His mind was set on autopilot, taking on his role as Baron as he mentally prepared to take down Paul Atreides. Turning your head to the left, you snuck a concerned glance at Princess Irulan as she followed in her father’s stride. She was born for a role such as this, not you, not a Fremen girl. Anxiously, you licked your lips, the metallic taste of blood concerning you as it emerged from nowhere with no wound to make sense of it. 

Without thinking, you grabbed Feyd by his arm, dragging him from the formation. He tensed ever so slightly, unwinding a bit when he realized it was your hand that jerked him away. “What’s the matter?” He asked, examining you up and down. 

“You can’t do this.” You warned, the overwhelming urge to throw up trying to silence you. “I do not have a good feeling about this, My Love, please!” You grabbed his hand, holding it to your chest. 

Feyd frowned, not wanting to hear your pleas once more. “It is too late. This is what I must do and in time maybe you will understand—“

“What if you die?” You whispered. 

“That will not happen, Y/N.” He leaned down, pressing his warm lips to yours as he provided you with one more kiss. 

You wanted to rip your hair out in the amount of frustration that you could not properly voice. “I have told you about making such promises to me.”

“Is there an issue that must be addressed?” The Emperor questioned in annoyance. 

You cut your eyes in his direction, taking a deep breath as your husband spoke up. “No, Emperor Shaddam.” He replied, pulling you back into the formation with him.

Feyd was not permitted to hold your hand as you both entered the throne room. Too much was on the line. Too many targets possibly on your back that he refused to be free around you. Even in your assurance that the Fremen would not harm you, it was not a risk he was willing to take. The room was tense and divided as everyone awaited next steps. 

The Fremen watched you enter, draped in a golden variation of a traditional Harkonnen gown with an extravagant headpiece perched on top of your curls. Your blue eyes overlooked everyone, searching for your sister within the sea of war fatigues. She was almost nowhere to be found before the crowd parted, Chani pushing through them to get a better look. To anyone else, you would have been unrecognizable, but she knew it was you as soon as you stepped foot into the space. 

This was the longest you had been away from your sister and resisting the urge to hug her was not as difficult as you believed it would be. While you loved her, the idea that she had not been truthful about the prophecy could not escape your mind. There was a deeper story here that you were unsure you would ever get the truth about. 

Your main focus right now was your husband, how could you keep him out of the very trouble he was seeking? In truth, Paul was not looking to fight Feyd, his sights were set on something above Geidi Prime. Paul felt an entitlement to the entirety of the Imperium and to have it within his power he would have to become Emperor. As soon as the words escaped his mouth, you heard Emperor Shaddam volunteering Feyd as his champion, to fight in his place with little regard as to what could happen if things ended unfavorably for him. 

You’d never felt so helpless in your entire life. On Arrakis, you were known as a great warrior, the fighter of your people, and now as the wife of the Baron, there was nothing you could do. Not without putting yourself in a sense of danger that you had no choice but to avoid. 

“May thy knife chip and shatter.” Paul stated, primed in a stance for fighting. 

Feyd turned to you, letting out a dry chuckle before returning focus to his opponent. “May thy knife chip and shatter.” He repeated, teasing the nobility that the Atreides boy possessed. 

You were given no choice but to watch them duel. The elegant and dangerous dance of combat held your undivided attention even amid your stomach doing flips. There was a brief moment where you felt a wave of grief paralleled with relief. While Feyd had stabbed Paul and left him with deathly wounds, at least he was proving to be successful and unharmed in his mission. Paul was your friend, a brother nearly, but there was more at stake than anyone knew…your husband needed to emerge from this alive.

You wished he would have listened to you. Maybe life would have panned out differently for your family. 

The clashing of metal was all that could be heard, in conjunction with exasperated huffs and grunts from injuries. Paul grabbed a bloodied Feyd by the back of his neck, making your face droop into a frown. You could not see the exact moment the blade pierced your husband’s skin, but, the sound of it being removed from his body shattered you. You’d seen many die in combat, but no one you ever cared for in a manner like this. 

Someone who was once a great man, a protector, a lover, a father.

Feyd Rautha Harkonnen was gone. A shell of who he was as his soul left his body and disappeared to wherever lost souls are doomed to. 

Your lip quivered uncontrollably. You tried stifling the wail of despair, trying to desperately not cause a scene. It’s not what Feyd would have wanted and you were sure of it. Against protocol, you left Princess Irulan’s side, walking along the edge of the room as all eyes fell on you. They bowed, not for your presence, but as respect to the Maud’Dib on the heels of his victory. The silence was stifling, only your sniffles could be heard as you approached Feyd’s body. 

“Y/N…don’t,” Paul warned, holding his wounded side. The closer you approached, the more he could feel the second heartbeat you carried. “I am sorry.” He whispered, his eyes widened as if the truth would have made him fight any differently. 

You held your hand out, silently asking that he stop talking. Bending down, you caught a tear from falling on his torn-up body. “You may rest now, My Love.” You closed his obsidian eyes and intended to return to your place when the glint of his bloodied blade caught your eyes. “Our son will know who you are.” 

Gripping the handle of the blade, you tucked it within your gown carefully, not bothering to look up and meet the gaze of anyone. You felt out of place standing with royalty and even more out of place among your people. You situated yourself in the middle, standing nobly in protest, looking at everything but your husband’s body on the floor. Paul had given up on you, offering you your space while he focused on Chani, the only Fremen warrior who refused to bow before him. You listened intently as he approached your sister, her uncertainty as to what was happening made her nervousness spike.  

“I will love you as long as I breathe.” He spoke with certainty, knowing what he had to do would break her heart. With fearlessness in his stride, Paul Maud’Dib Atreides approached the Emperor and agreed to spare his life under one condition. “I’ll take the hand of your daughter. She will remain safe and we will rule together over the Empire.”

You snapped your head in her direction, brows furrowed in confusion. Chani could not hide her disdain, her heart being ripped from her chest was destroying her inside. No amount of tension between you two would allow you to ignore that your sister was hurting deeply. Biting her lip to the point of numbness, Chani tore through the gathering of followers, not bearing to stay within the throne room for another minute. If looks could kill, Paul Atreides would have laid motionless beside your husband and been banished to a form of Hell that you felt would fit his punishment. You shook your head in disbelief, your initial focus shifting from heartache to anger and now to protect your sister.

You did not call her name, only running after her as fast as you could upon snatching off your heels and throwing them within the perimeters of the throne room. The density of your gown weighed you down in the sand, making you sink further and further as you chased her. 

“Chani!” You pleaded. She waved you off, not wanting to talk, unsure of what to even say. “Chani, please!”

“I can’t do this with you right now, Y/N.”

She wanted to cry, so badly did she want to allow herself to break but she couldn’t, if she did she would never return to sanity. She dropped to her knees in the sand, being one with the only thing she had ever known. Chani’s pain sent shockwaves through you, threatening to paralyze your fragile body but you powered through. She pulled out a Thumper, sticking it deep into the sand in a hurried motion. You met her amid the desert, bending down to her level as much as you could. 

“None of this was supposed to happen.” You heard her say. Scared and angry eyes glancing back at you. 

You took a deep breath. As much as you wanted to help her through her pain, you couldn’t ignore the tension between you two. “Chani, did you know?” You asked, shifting your weight within the sand. “Did you know about the prophecy?”

“I didn’t believe in it.” She admitted. “I didn’t believe in any of this until it was too late and they came for you.”

You nodded, trying to stop your lip from trembling even more. You wrapped your arms around her body, pulling her close as she embraced you. “He really did love me, you know? I got to know a side of him that no one else did, no matter how brief.” You spoke upon pulling away, not allowing the sadness to cripple you.  Your hands pressed gently against your womb, Chani’s eyes dropping in realization. 

“Are you—“

“Yes.” You replied. “A boy.”

Chani shook her head. “And Paul killed his father…looks as if we are both grieving, Sister.” She glimpsed along the horizon, seeing the sandworm she called barreling through the surface. “Who was I to think that the son of a Duke would love a Fremen?” She asked.

She unhooked her grapples, holding them alongside her body as she tried to remain focused. There was so much running through her mind, so many things she could not begin to make sense of. How naive she was to think that Paul meant what he said when he wished to be equal to her. She gave Paul parts of herself that no one else knew and it still was not enough, not in the game of politics. She needed to leave, for the only thing the South gave her was her sister and nephew returning safely. 

You studied her, the overwhelming sense that there was something more to the madness. Ever since discovering you were with child, you had become more sensitive to energies and supernatural occurrences. Chani’s emotions had never been this expressive, however, she had never faced hurt like this. Hesitantly, you reached for her stomach, settling your palm against the material of her suit.

You felt the same sensations as you did when you first told Feyd he would be a father. The nervousness, the fear, the excitement, the flurries of life growing inside of you…Chani would soon feel all of this wrapped into one. 

Her eyes followed your touch, shuddering as she made mental connections. She could barely speak, not wanting you to verbally confirm what you were telling her. 

“I’m with you.” You assured her. “Every step of the way, Chani.”

That was all she needed to hear in the moment. While waves of loss and grief tried to drown you, a small part of your soul found peace in knowing that you and Chani would raise your children together. That you’d be able to teach your son about his Father and one day he would understand the rarity of his parents union. Feyd would want that.

He’d be at peace in the afterlife knowing that his wife and son found a way to survive without him, safely passing time within the sands of Arrakis.

— THROWN TO THE WOLVES (VIII)

PART ONE || PART TWO || PART THREE PART FOUR || PART FIVE || PART SIX PART SEVEN

PAIRING — Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Reader // Atreides!OC

SUMMARY — Giedi Prime celebrates Feyd-Rautha's birthday and the hundredth kill in the arena. Meanwhile, na-baroness gets reminded by The Baron who pulls the strings and finds out unpleasant truth about the promise her aunt has given to the Bene Gesserit.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — It’s written as an usual x Reader fic without describing anything about the Reader’s looks but I still classified it as an OC as well since she is Paul Atreides’ half-sister. I wasn't sure what titles Feyd's children would have but since his brother is a Count, I assumed his children would be C(o)unts and C(o)untesses. I mean, his eldest son would become na-baron but only after his father would become The Baron, I assume 🤔 Next chapter we go to Arrakis, babes!!! 🤭 Thank you for all your comments, reblogs and messages! 💕

WARNINGS — arranged marriage, mentions of sexual activities (no actual smut), violent behaviour, death, syringes, mentions of planned and scientifical breeding, blood pact

WORD COUNT — 6,670

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

Feyd Fantasy Part 6

Label Mature 18+

Brazen Baron

Summary

Feyd Rautha has a massive coronation. Excitement fills the air as his people look forward to a better future for the planet improving beyond his uncles reign.

Feyd begins blurring all the lines of his Harkonnen heritage for you. Everything he has been raised to value crumbles when he’s in your presence. You give him everything he never knew he desired and his infatuation for you becomes even deeper. His Lord in waiting takes notice and fears for his sanity and rational thought.

Will his undying love for you make him a great ruler or a passive counterfeit?

⚠️ Hardcore Smut ⚠️

Semi public sex •coercion• Feyd Dom• female restrained for sex•clit play• resisting arousal•FeydSub• Feyd handcuffed for sex • Feyd collared for sex• Feyd crop whipped•multiple ejaculations•Feyd Bj •Feyd violent sex•Feyd forced to orgasm•multiple orgasms•multiple cream pies

Feyd Fantasy Series

Part 1• Part 2• Part 3• Part 4• Part 5• Part 6•Part 7

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍 ||| Feyd Rautha x reader 

Pairing: Feyd Rautha x reader, Feyd Rautha x black!reader

Summary: On the eve of the psychotic Prince’s birthday, you gruesomely discover the truth about your purpose on Arrakis and how you fit into the beloved prophecy that has muddied the minds of your people. 

Warnings: DUNE PART II SPOILERS, mentions of violence, blood, sexual activity, SMUT!, bloodlines, angst, slowburn, enemies to lovers (one sided), mentions of children, Minors DNI

Taglist: @elf-punk @b-bradshaw @strengthandstay @dreamlandcreations @hellomothermoon @deadpool15 @lov4gor3 @fanfiction-addict22 @ifulovemetakemetothegastation @tian-monique @ertepla @ladyredstar1991 @cage7241 @mbjackie @just-here-to-readd @myheartfollower @just-pure-trash @szapizzapanda @h0neysiba @yourwonderbelle @that-one-spn-girl

If you’d like to be added to the list just let me know!

___

CHAPTER THREE

KISS OF VITALITY

“Chani, how did you know?” 

You shoved a hearty helping of your soup into your mouth. Overlooking the sands of Arrakis as the sky turned dark. You and your sister were distanced from the group. The stories of the Maud’Dib being told by Stilgar to the believers were heard faintly in the background.

“Know what?” She asked, furrowing her brows. 

You laughed at the obliviousness. You turned her head gently, forcing her to look at Paul who was in the process of pitching his tent. “How did you know that you love Paul?” You restated your question, watching as the realization hit her. 

The Atreides boy felt her piercing gaze. He turned to the Kynes sisters, the weight of the Imperium lifting off of his shoulders for a mere moment when his lips curled into a smile. He waved to the girls briefly, returning his focus to the tent so he could retire for the evening. Chani grinned, her front tooth poking out a bit because her excitement was too much to be contained. It was a small glimpse, but, you were reminded that Paul is merely a boy. A kid wrapped up in the madness of duties and royal roles that you would never understand. 

Chani scoffed, breaking from the trance. “I do not—“

“You do, and that is okay.” You interrupted, placing your empty bowl next to you in the sand. “I’m sure it is complicated due to who he is and what he represents, even if you do not believe in the stories Silgar tells. Dear Sister, you can not allow your loyalties to dictate the remainder of your life. When it is all said and done and this war is over, who will you spend the rest of your days with? It can not be me.”

Your sister was silent, staring at her food like it was the most important thing in her line of sight. Her mind rushing with thoughts and fears surrounding the prophecy, not for Paul, but for you. “It is my duty to look after you and our people, Y/N. I can not allow distractions to ruin that.” She stated. 

“We are of the same age, Chani. You were mere minutes older than me.” You rolled your eyes. “I am more than capable of handling my own against Harkonnens, the Emperor, and anything else that may make the mistake of crossing my path. Paul is where your heart resides. I have seen the way you look at him, and him to you. I know you two have embraced each other in a way only man and wife do.”

Chani’s blue eyes cut in your direction. The looks of embarrassment and shock flashed across her facial features. She shoved you playfully, you falling over into the sand before kicking her in the shoulder. “You annoy me.” She chuckled. 

“Woman’s intuition never fails.” You brush the sand out of your hair, tucking a stray curl behind your ear. 

You turned your head, expecting to see Paul struggling with his tent once more, but he was nowhere in sight. You frowned, looking around you to be met with nothing but the sand and spice. Stilgar, your sister, they were all gone. Vanished like a thief in the night before your very eyes. 

Suddenly, your body lurched forward, shoved to the ground by a figure dressed in war gear. You raised your fists, dropping them when a young boy came to view. He was fair skinned, short sun kissed curls rested messily on his head, but his eyes reminded you of home. It was apparent that this child was Fremen, with his obsidian pupils surrounded by a sea of blue. He couldn’t have been more than sixteen. His hands gripped your shoulders tightly, shaking your body as he shouted. 

“You need to wake up!” 

You felt your body jump. Chest rising and falling as if air had been unattainable for years and your lungs needed relief. Dune had disappeared, the boy was gone, the ghostly and glum walls of your chambers welcomed you back to life harshly. 

There was only one person at your bedside and it was not whom you had expected. A handmaiden was spooked from her seat, her hand over her heart as she caught her breath. 

“My Lady.” She greeted you quickly. “Thank the heavens you have awakened! I must alert the Na-Baron.” 

You gripped her wrist tightly before she could leave. Terrified, she looked down at her arm and prayed you would not destroy her. “What happened?” You asked. 

“Y-You were poisoned, My Lady.” She stuttered shakily. 

There were blind spots in your memory. The bitter taste of the wine was still on your tongue, or, maybe it was a hallucination? Where did the wine come from? You searched your brain to make sense of it all. Was it in your chambers? That did not seem quite right, you could remember someone’s hand grazing yours as it was given to you. They had traditional clothing on, someone of status, someone of royal blood. 

Feyd. 

“By the Na-Baron?” You asked hastily. “Feyd stole me from my home just to poison me?!” You let go of her arm, trying to climb out of the bed. 

She shook her head violently. “That is not at all what happened, My Lady!” She defended, her hands up in surrender in hopes you would listen. “He loves you, truly. He has shown a way of kindness and care that none of us knew he possessed.”

“I do not believe you.” You waved her off. “He is your Na-Baron, he will be your King, it is in your blood to protect him and the Harkonnen name—”

“The Na-Baron hand-picked your clothing, My Lady.” She revealed. “He stated that the brown and gold reminded him of Arrakis, that it would bring you comfort from home paired with the spiced perfume. No one on this planet has worn color in centuries but you were the first, My Lady.” 

Your heart continued to race. The anger and frustration began to fleet as you listened to her. “He did that for me?” You asked in disbelief. 

“And has done so much more, My Lady.” The pale woman nodded. “The Na-Baron has massacred thirty of his men, trying to find the person responsible for your attack. The halls smell of blood and metal. The Palace has been restless since what happened to you.”

You shuddered, defensiveness washing away immediately. You’d seen the kind of fighter Feyd is, bloodshed is merely an added incentive to continue in the slaughter. Thirty of his own men had met bitter fates while you unknowingly fought for your life. All of this turmoil was to preserve your honor. 

Feyd faught for you when no one else had. 

That was something you could not ignore nor brush past easily. 

“How long had I been unconscious?” You inquired. 

The handmaiden bowed her head. “Three days, My Lady.” 

You grabbed the bottom of your white lace nightgown, not even questioning who and how you had changed into the material during your slumber. “I must find him.” You stated numbly. “Where is he?” 

“I believe the Na-Baron is in his chambers, My Lady.” The woman choked out. 

You headed for the door, mind still fuzzy from waking up moments ago. Your bare feet kissing the halls of the Harkonnen Palace but you didn’t care. Your focus was on him and him only. Ignoring the cries of the handmaiden begging you to wait. You had never been nor seen his chambers and yet it was the intuition of a woman that guided you. A kinetic pull drawing the two of you closer and closer together. 

You burst through the entrance, unsure of what you would expect on the other side. It was as if time stood still within the Imperium. Every thought and every emotion hit you in a manner that resembled a sandstorm. Standing in the doorway of Feyd’s chambers, your heart rate raised at his appearance. He was nearly naked, only what appeared to be his undergarments were draped over the lower half of his body. 

Sitting at the edge of his bed, the Na-Baron quickly rose to his feet and was ready to punish whoever had burst into his dwellings without authorization. It was only when he saw the concern in your eyes that his muscles relaxed. 

Feyd had pushed his fragile mental state and his physical body to new lengths the last few days. There was not a moment where the blood of Harkonnen soldiers did not coat his chiseled body. His rampage was beyond anything that anyone had seen in years from a Harkonnen, much less, in the name of a Fremen. He’d hunted down, beaten, and murdered anyone who might have been involved in the attack on his bride. 

All in hopes of avenging you if you died. 

He would often return to his chambers, washing the blood of his enemies from his body, before retiring to bed for another sleepless night. He could not think, breathe, nor function properly knowing that your life hung in the hands of the Gods. That your vitality was the one thing in his life he did not have control of. 

“Y/N?” He asked, nearly believing you were a ghost or a figment of delirium stemming from no rest. 

You dropped the bottom of your nightgown, bare feet heading in his direction. Without any thought, your arms wrapped around his pale body. Holding him tightly with tears prickling your eyes. You had so many things you wanted to say, and yet all you could do was muster up two words. 

“Thank you.” 

Feyd was unsure of what was happening. He had never experienced any type of affection in a manner like this. Something that would be deemed weak and dangerous. He held his arms out, trying to figure out what to do with them. He decided to mimic you. You felt his cold presence against yours, skin meeting together as you both were wrapped within each other. 

This is an act you never would have imagined yourself doing when you first were taken to Geidi Prime. There was something inside of you that had shifted completely. Feyd Rautha Harkonnen, the psychotic descendant of your oppressors, was the only person on this planet who was ready to kill for you. To do everything within his power to comfort you and defend your honor immediately after. His loyalty had been proven beyond anything you expected. 

“How long have you been awake?” Feyd asked, pulling away to get a closer look at you. “I was supposed to be alerted immediately so I could be there for you.” 

You grabbed his forearms gently. “It has not been long. I had to see you, after hearing of all you’ve done in my absence.” You sighed. 

“I believed you were gone.” He whispered, his hands resting firmly on your hips. As if you would disappear from his line of sight. “You should not have been worried about what I have done. You should be resting.” 

You chuckled. “As should you.” Your fingertips grazed his face, cupping his cheek and forcing him to look you in the eyes. Even with his alabaster skin, you could see the signs of sleep deprivation. “You have done enough for me, Feyd, you may rest now.” 

“I found the scum who slipped the poison into your wine.” He alerted you, settling into your touch as he craved more. “His punishment lies in your hands.”

You shook your head. “I have no regard for that right now.” He narrowed his eyes in confusion, opening his mouth to speak but you cut him off. “I’ve been given a second chance, Feyd, and I want to spend this moment with my husband.”

“Husband?” He repeated, a smirk running across his lips. “Are you still my Desert Rose? Or have you been replaced?” He wrapped his arm around your body, hugging at the curve of your waist. His head rested in the crook of your neck, inhaling your sweet scent. “Ahh, indeed my love, just as I suspected.”

Quickly, you moved your lips toward his. The feelings of safety and security overwhelm you. No guilt is present in your psyche, even to have been terrified of him mere days ago. Feyd had done an impressive job of proving himself to be worthy. His intentions, his loyalty, and his love all were directed to you.

How could you not be attracted to someone who spent their days and nights hunting down anyone involved in your demise?

You grasped the nape of his neck, tongues dancing with each other as senses of pleasure rocked your body. Feyd was enamored with you. How deeply he longed for a moment like this since knowing of your existence and coming into his own sexuality. But there was one thing in the back of his mind that would not let him enjoy the moment fully.

“What has changed your heart, Y/N?” He asked lowly, pulling away from your kiss.

You took a deep breath. “I understand you now.” You smiled. “Everything you have done for me since my arrival to Geidi Prime will no longer go unnoticed, My Lord.”

Feyd laughed, the small groveling being heard in the back of his throat. He bent down ever slightly, picking up your legs and balancing your back within his arms. “You know … we missed our wedding, Desert Rose. It was to be a public spectacle.” He carried you the short distance to his bed. Laying you on top of the red, silk bedding. “After what happened, I feel as if sharing you with my world is a danger. A risk I am not willing to take.”

“Who is to say we cannot be married now?” You asked, propping yourself up on your elbows. “Our union is for us, first and foremost. An exchange of rings and vows where we know we are safe is how we can begin a lifetime together.” You reached for his chest, pulling him closer to be mere inches from your face. “But those formalities can wait. Now? I crave you, Feyd, in every way imaginable.”

The toned man crawled across your body, obsidian eyes examining every inch of you underneath him. Those same glimpses and flashes you had seen of the boy in your dream, suddenly make sense within your mind. You held your observations to yourself and remained focused on the man in front of you.

His pale hands traveled up your legs and between the fabric of your undergarments. With a careful finger, he hooked onto the thin strap of your panties, pulling them off of your heat. He balled the black material in his hand and took a deep sniff, the pheromones being a drug that he could never be freed from. Throwing them off of the side of the bed, his fingers found their way home again.

His index and middle pulsed in your warm cunt. The intensity in his pace was apparent from the beginning. His excitement to have you in his bed and call you his Wife was overshadowing the slow act of sex. There were no thoughts of his duties, his mission to procreate, nor the prophecy clouding his mind. He knew there would be a million chances he would have to bed you, this one—this first one—he needed to feel you around him instantly.

With his free hand, he took your wrists and held them above your head. Full control as he watched you beginning to come undone at the simple movement.

Your moans were sweet melodies. The tones of angels that he had heard tales about. As much as he hoped your music would soothe him, the way you scrunched your eyes was a clear sign that he needed to slow down. He released you, sucking on his two fingers as his eyes rolled back into his head.

“Oh no, not yet, Princess.” He said in a raspy voice. “I need you to be a good girl and wait. Can you do that for me?”

You scoffed. “I suggest you not be so eager then, Feyd.” You commanded. “I am yours until the end of time. I’m not going anywhere.”

His kiss was rough and passionate, you were sure with any more force you would have bruises all over your body. His hands could not wait to roam every crevice of yours, your ass, your breasts, your hips, all of it being divine in his eyes because they were yours and of your essence. Your cunt was pulsing, needing to feel something of his inside of you.

Hooking your leg around his, you pulled him to the bed, his back now along the bedding. Pulling the nightgown over your head, you snatched the material from your body and threw it to the ground. Your bare chest flashed in front of him, your womanliness blossoming in his presence. The fantasies he had dreamed up since forever seemed to be playing out right before him.

“When was the last time you pleasured a woman?” You asked, resting your thighs on the back of your legs. Nimble fingers skated up his body and hovered over the wrapping of his undergarments. You began to untie them, freeing his cock as it sprung from its restraints. “A spoiled man like you, you must be used to all the work being done for you.”

“If you are questioning if I know how to fuck, dear Wife,” Feyd grinned, his palm rubbing up and down his cock. Staring at you with the nastiest of thoughts running through his mind. “then I trust you will find answers quickly and excitedly. Spit.” He commanded, taking his free hand to your lips.

You obeyed, watching as your natural lubricant glistened on his hard member. Wanting to partake in the fun, you waited until his motion seemed to slow, and straddled him. Feyd could not exercise self-control, he roughly grabbed your hips and slammed you down onto his cock. All of his massiveness pushed through your cunt at a speed that overwhelmed you. You let out a gasp, followed by a moan that excited him even more.

“Too much, Princess?” He smirked.

You shook your head. Upon gathering your bearings, you steadily rolled your hips to a rhythm that matched his. His warm hands held onto your breasts for leverage until even that action he could not focus on. The sweat glistening from your golden skin combined with the melodic moans sent his mentality beyond the astral plane.

Ignoring his teasing, your hand reached for his throat and wrapped around his airway. He let out a grunt, bucking his hips like an animal. He was now submissive to you, his Wife, willing to give you any and everything you asked for.

“You want to come, Baby?” You asked.

Feyd nodded, screwing his eyes shut. “Please.” He begged.

Your own orgasm rocked your body before you could give him permission. His warm seed began filling your cunt and spilling out of you, threatening to drip down your inner thighs. With two harsh thrusts into your hips, you let go of him and gently peeled yourself from his body. Legs and back aching from the intensity of your Husband filling you up.

Panting, you struggled to form a coherent thought, the craving for rest threatening to take over. You underestimated how much you could handle upon waking from your coma.

The brisk air within the castle hit your skin within minutes to which Feyd noticed. Briefly, he got up from his position, grabbing your undergarments and nightgown from the floor. He handed them to you respectfully, eyes not wandering from yours.

“You’re cold. Here.” He said simply, motioning toward the bed. Grabbing the satin sheets roughly, he loosened them from their tightly tucked corners so that you could be draped in them. “I’d like for you to stay with me tonight…and for all nights from now on. Nothing tragic can happen to you if I am around.”

You nodded, brain working too fast for your lips to catch up. “But something did happen, Feyd.” You blurted mistakenly. Not cowering when you realized it was said aloud. Putting your clothing back on, you didn’t need to look him in the eyes to see how your comment hurt him.

He stalked over to your side of the large bed. Ego bruised and pride shaken as you throw the biggest mistake of his lifetime in his face so quickly after giving him the best pleasure he’s ever known.

“I would have rather it been me who suffered that, than you.” He grabbed your wrists, forcing you to pay attention to his pleas, kneeling down in front of you. There he was once more, the man who first welcomed you to Geidi Prime. “And now there will be protocols in place to ensure your safety. Heightened security who have been properly vetted will be with you and me at all times. Taste testers with every meal to keep you protected from anything like that ever happening again.”

Even with the solutions proposed, the pit in your stomach did not seem to get any lighter. Soon, it would be two people of Fremen descent living within the palace, endangered. There were other lives at stake.

You let out a deep breath, knowing that he would not be fond of what you would say next. “And when I bear a child, what is to happen then?” You snapped. “There are people on this planet who want me dead. Surely, the only child of Fremen and Harkonnen lineage will upset them even more. It is one thing if my life is on the line, but my son?” Taking a shaky breath, you wiped your tears away angrily. “It will destroy me if anything happens to him.”

You couldn’t help but imagine a world where your child was ripped from you. Stolen in an act of senseless violence because people refused to get along. Even with just seeing the boy in your premonition, the emotional connection was nothing like you had ever felt.

“It would never get to that point—”

“That is a promise you cannot make, Feyd.” You disagreed swiftly. With his hand drying your tears, you let out a sniffle. “What if something is to happen to you? In battle? In health? There are so many possibilities one cannot account for. You are our protector, and without you what is to guarantee we would be safe here?”

Feyd looked away from you momentarily. Ashamed and embarrassed as to what he was thinking, how it went against everything he was taught. “You run.” He spoke with no hesitation. “You take our son and return home to Arrakis. I have spent the past three days drawing up an escape plan. It is completed and will be available for you if you need it.”

You blinked incredulously. Even his faith in this planet, his planet, was nonexistent. Feyd did not properly think through the idea of having you on Geidi Prime. He saw a chance to have you, his birthright, and took it without a second thought. He so strongly believed that his word was bond, that his subjects would fall to your feet and kiss them graciously.

Being from different worlds was never as apparent as it is now.

How little he truly understood the hatred for Fremen ran deep, beyond anything that your union could resolve.

"I'd like to retire to bed now." You insisted, asking him to join you on the other side of the mattress.

Standing up, Feyd gave you a passionate kiss, tucking your hair behind your ear. "I love you." He gave you a small smile.

"I love you too." You replied, genuine in your sentiments.

He crawled into bed beside you, draped in silk sleep pants, ready to rest with you at his side. His mind was racing but he could not allow fear to settle in. Fear was associated with weakness, it is the mind-killer, but something in his heart was screaming for attention. Telling him that something was sure to go wrong. To put the anxieties at bay, he cradled you in his arms, running his hands through your curls as you lay on his chest and fell into a deep sleep.

Feyd was unsure as to when he rested his eyes. The palace was now buzzing with morning preparations, more guards surrounding the building at the news of the Princess's resurrection. The door to his bedroom was rocked by a stranger pounding his knuckles into the wood. The slightest noise had you shooting upright from your slumber, searching the room for something to defend yourself when you saw the dagger resting upon the nightstand. You white-knuckled the weapon, your Husband stepping in front of you to inspect the noise.

"What business do you have?" He hollered, footsteps carefully approaching the door with his own knife in hand.

The guard yelled back, clearly out of breath. "It is news from Arrakis, Na-Baron."

You cocked your head to the side, stomach dropping at the mention of home. "What of Arrakis?" You asked. "Open the door." You ordered Feyd, to which he followed your command. Only when he felt it was safe to do so.

"There has been a development from our soldiers on the ground in the southern region of Arrakis, Na-Baron, My Lady." The sweaty guard bowed his head in respect. "They have spotted Paul Atreides. The Fremen have accepted him as the Maud'Dib."

You expected Feyd to be angry with the revelation. Upset even, that you had known the man he killed in his moment of triumph was not who he believed it to be. To your surprise he was quiet, pondering what his next logical step would be. A malevolent smirk spread across his lips, his dark eyes cutting to you as if you were the only one in the room.

"Looks as if we are taking a trip to your home, Karama."