Just A Compilation Of All The Kissing That Happens In Challengers

just a compilation of all the kissing that happens in challengers

made this out of boredom and horniness lol

enjoy <3

+ youtube link for if you wanna watch on your tv or smth idk

patrick zweig

fics

coming soon

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blurbs

patrick eating ass +18

sweaty!patrick +18

free use patrick +18

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aus

art's sister!au: part 1, part 2, part 3, & more thoughts

stepbrother!patrick au: part 1 & more thoughts

stepbros!artrick au 18+

von dutch!au 18+

challengers masterlist ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

here is a masterlist of most of what i've written about challengers! keep in mind that all works are fem reader insert as of now. :) i have also only included longer blurbs for now.

art fighting for you

facesitting w/ patrick x tashi

patrick & tashi corrupting you (continuation of the above)

fwb to lovers w/ patrick

best friend's brother!patrick pt. 1

best friend's brother!patrick pt. 2

patrick rimming you

patrick as your tennis coach

sneaking around w/ patrick

drunk sex w/ patrick

patrick taking your mind off your ex boyfriend

patrick showering you with praise

patrick and art eating you out

patrick x art x reader

patrick saying he can fuck you better

enemies to lovers with art

making out with tashi after a match

sub!art

patrick teaching you how to give head

matching with both art and patrick on a dating app

college!patrick

secret fwb w/ patrick

crawling after you (patrick x reader)-- friends to lovers, secret relationship

art x pregnant reader

degradation and makeup sex w/ patrick

finding perverted texts between patrick and art

perv!art & patrick x reader pt. 2

perv!art & patrick x reader pt. 3

the albatross, here to destroy you (a.d.)

Pairing: art donaldson x popstar!reader

Summary: three years, three encounters. First, a chance meeting between two rising stars seeking an escape leaves a handprint on their hearts.

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: smoking, language, greek mythology references, hella unresolved sexual tension(!!!), art is highkey a baby and lowkey a brat lol, did i mention unresolved sexual tension?, sooo much pining

Notes: this idea has consumed my waking days for weeks. I contemplated making it a really long fic, but after a long and careful consideration, I have decided to make it a trilogy! Two reasons; a) it’s gonna be really long, and b) I wanted to put Art’s look as a reference in each part lmao. Big up to @ysuftmikey and @tommysparker for being awesome and hearing out my incoherent rambles about this story. But anyway, please comment, reblog, talk to me and tell me what you think about it! Happy reading!

**i do not have a taglist. Follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass andd turn on the notifications to be alerted for new fics and updates!**

Part One: London, July 2011.

It was quite an impressive feat. 23-year-old American rising star Art Donaldson had miraculously beat the defending champion-slash-legend Rafael Nadal at the Wimbledon final.

Or so they said.

You don’t know, nor do you care much, to be quite honest. You were basically ordered to attend by your publicist, outfits picked out, hair and makeup team on full throttle only to have you sit pretty on the side of the Centre Court. And now, after milling around and halfheartedly mingling at the afterparty, you decide to give yourself some respite and slip away to the balcony.

“Oh, shit—” the man quickly turns back and stubs his cigarette on the railing, waving away any trace of smoke.

(You say man in a very broad term. He looks more like a teenage boy with that messy blond mop and skittish way about him.)

You raise your hands, showing no threat. “Sorry. Didn’t realize this balcony was taken.”

“Wait, no. Please.” He stops. He sheepishly scratches the back of his neck. The only thing more embarrassing than getting caught smoking was getting caught smoking by a pretty girl. And pretty is… a fucking gross understatement, based on what he was seeing. “Don’t leave on my account.”

“You sure?”

You flash him that soft, understanding smile and he very nearly asks you not to leave, like ever. But fortunately, he’s got enough game to hold his tongue and smile back at you, “There’s more than enough room for both of us here, right?”

Technically, the balcony is big enough for the two of you to stand on opposite corners without even addressing each other. But his fingers are resting on a pack of Marlboro Green, and you bite the inside of your cheek thoughtfully. “And more than enough cigarettes, I hope?”

He’s not sure what he was hoping for, but he sure is surprised to hear you accept his invitation to stay. Gosh, he must’ve looked like an idiot right now. “Sure, of course.”

He slides a cigarette out of the pack as he offers it to you, readily leaning in with his zippo. For a split second, the two of you share a breath in the space that he encloses with one hand as he lights your cigarette. You would be lying if it didn’t make your heart stutter.

“So…” you inhale, taking the nicotine hit to calm your thoughts, “I thought smoking was bad for athletes.”

“I thought smoking was bad for singers too, but I guess it’s less frowned upon, huh?” He murmurs, trying to balance a fresh cigarette off of the side of his lips, smirking at you over the flicker of flame he started.

“Touché.” You lean your back against the railing. It’s an interesting game of chess you’re playing. Each of your reputations precede you and don’t at the same time. “But that still doesn’t explain why you’re out here smoking on your own, instead of in there…” Celebrating is left unsaid, although the implied word hangs in big and bold letters.

“Ah well, maybe this is my way of celebrating. We’re allowed one vice every now and again, right?”

You look at him like it’s a bullshit excuse—and it is.

“This is gonna sound insane, but…” he takes a drag, looking out at the landscape before him, “I don’t feel like I should be celebrating.”

You look at him like that bullshit excuse grew a new head.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, I worked hard for it and I’m glad it paid off, but…” he flicks the ash on the end of his cigarette three times. “I could’ve been better. Quicker. Won more points earlier. Beat him faster. And until I can do that, I don’t think I deserve a celebration just yet.”

You hum softly. “Sounds like you’re making a Sisyphus out of yourself. That can’t be fun.”

His mouth tugs into a crooked smile, not expecting to be called out like this. “I mean, at least I’m not rolling a boulder up a hill. I’d take tennis over that any day.”

“Yeah, but it seems like tennis is your boulder up a hill.”

“Touché.” He smiles bashfully as he takes a long drag. And then, he offers his hand. “I’m Art Donaldson, by the way.”

It’s a formality at this point. He knows who you are, heard your songs on the radio and saw your face on billboards more times than he can count. Hell, he saw you on the stands in your little Dior sunglasses earlier—and you saw him looking, just for a moment, sweat dripping down his perfect nose and all. But out of courtesy, you tell him your name and accept his handshake.

You pull your hand away, and he almost groans in protest. But again, he holds his horses. “Alright, I’ll bite. If I’m Sisyphus, what does that make you?”

“Oh, definitely Dionysus. Living on wine and theater and good vibes.” You’ve got that shit locked and loaded. It’s obvious that you’ve thought of this before.

“Is that so?” He chuckles. “Well… as long as you don’t sacrifice me to the maenads, right?”

“Can’t promise you that,” you quip back, tapping the gray off of your remaining cigarette. Pleasantly surprised that he doesn’t make the obnoxious remark that Dionysus is also the god of sex, as boys would do. Even more so that he knows enough to know the difference between the sirens and the maenads.

There’s no fighting the raging flush in his cheeks anymore, but he just hopes you would spare him. “Will you at least promise to make it swift?”

It comes out faster than a trainwreck, but without even blinking, the one thing that comes out of your mouth is, “What if I wanna take my time with you?”

Fuck.

The party carries on inside, although Stevie Wonder’s ‘My Cherie Amour’ sounds a mile away. His cigarette smoke comes out in a stuttered huff, as he looks away, not knowing what to do with himself. Eventually, though, he recovers, taking another drag. “It wouldn’t be a terrible way to go, huh?”

“I suppose not.” You sigh into a smile, exuding a flume of smoke through your nose. Shit, he doesn’t know which one is hotter; that, or the lipstick mark on your filter. Or the pensive look as you watch the party through the window.

Oh, he’s down bad.

“So, Dionysus…” he leans out against the railing, flicking ash off his stub one, two, three. “What brings you out here? You a tennis fan?”

“Me? Oh, no. No, I… don’t even really understand how it worked until today,” you admit bashfully. Somehow the truth doesn’t feel so embarrassing, even though you spent the day lying through your teeth. “Not until I saw you play. Which… congrats, by the way.”

“Wow. Thanks.” He’s not sure whether it’s the earnestness in your congratulations, or the fact that the game finally makes sense because of him, but his heart grows three sizes.

“But, yeah, no, my publicist dragged me here kicking and screaming.”

“So you were forced into a party, huh? That’s not very Dionysian of you…” He muses playfully, and those lines on each side of his lips aching to break out into a full smile. And they do. And it warms your heart that those smile lines only emphasizes the way his face lights up. “Nah, I get what you mean. My agent had to drag me out of the locker room to make an ‘appearance.’”

“Yeah, she said something about… shifting into a classier, more grownup image?”

“By watching a couple of dudes hit a ball with a racket?”

“By sitting there and looking pretty. It’s the only reason I’m all decked out in this ridiculous fucking thing,” you look down at your outfit with a grumble. Of all the days you could’ve run into someone cute, you’re in a fucking pantsuit like some middle-aged politician.

“But you do look pretty,” he replies without even blinking.

“Thanks, it’s Ralph Lauren.” You smile faux sweetly. “I believe I’m contractually obligated to say that.”

“Still pretty,” and he means it, lackadaisical smile and all. The ivory cape-like blazer is an interesting cut that goes down to your knees, and it makes you look regal. The cut of the pants makes your legs go for miles. It certainly doesn’t hurt that your off-white shirt is unbuttoned halfway, showing a generous amount of cleavage.

(And hey, he’s still a guy. Can you blame him?)

He has this way of looking at you. Like he’s studying you. It would’ve been unsettling, if he weren’t so fucking beautiful to look at and you don’t mind an excuse to stare back and admire the angular lines on his face. Like Apollo in the moonlight. “What?”

Art taps his cigarette much more deliberately and inhales, exhales out of the side of his mouth, much more deliberately this time. “I think you’re more Aphrodite than Dionysus.”

You take another drag. “How so?”

“First of all, for a god of parties, you don’t like to party all that much,” he grins knowingly, smugly, like he’s proud to have figured you out. But his smile softens, and there’s intensity behind his eyes. “And because you’re beautiful. And dangerous.”

Your mouth twists, pausing for a long moment. To calm yourself. To gather yourself. “But it’s so cliched, though…”

“Well, who would you rather be? Medusa, maybe?” He turns his body, leaning on his side against the railing so he’s fully facing you, and you can’t help but mirror his position.

You raise a forefinger pointedly, French manicured nails on display. “Hey. I think Medusa gets a bad rep. Neptune fucked her over, but she was the one cursed.”

“And what, you think you’re as cursed as Medusa, too?”

You shrug, maybe.

Despite the weight of your answer, he can’t help the chuckle that escapes him. “There’s no way you’re cursed. A curse wouldn’t be so beautiful.”

“But a curse could be deceiving, no?”

“Or maybe it’s a matter of perspective. Maybe you think you’re cursed, even when you might not necessarily be.”

“Oh, just like you’re so inclined to keep pushing your boulder up a hill?”

Art blinks, and sucks his teeth bashfully. Just when he thought he’s got you figured out… Check and mate. “You know, if I didn’t know you any better, I would’ve thought you were some kind of an oracle. Like Cassandra.”

Your eyebrows raise in interest.

“You have this strange, unnerving ability to see right through me. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve had a few drinks, or you’re just very observant, but…” he trails off thoughtfully and then nods like he’s made up his mind. “Cassandra.”

“Cassandra,” you echo quietly. “I like that.”

“Mm-hm. I’d say it’s a very fitting title for you.”

That fond little glint in his eyes is becoming a staple in the way he looks at you. And you don’t ever wanna see it dim. So you speak up again, leaning in conspiratorially. “You wanna hear something funny?”

“What?”

“My parents almost named me Cassandra.”

His jaw drops, dumbstruck. “Shut the fuck up.” His grandmother would have smacked him on the back of his head, knowing the profanity he uses (to a girl he likes, no less). But out of all the things he tried to figure out about her, he never expected to get this one right.

“I shit you not.” You watch him double down laughing, grinning to yourself. “Freaky coincidence, right?”

“Or the Fates working overtime. I’m sure they’d be laughing at us right now.” He looks up at the deep blue sky with a shake of the head.

You wave at the stars, taking a mock bow to your invisible audience. “Thank you. Glad you’re enjoying the show, guys.” The laughter lingers on your lips, and you wonder if it tastes the same on his. “We really are just the court jesters, huh?”

He nods. “Although I wouldn’t mind playing the fool for you.” Maybe it’s the drinks or the cigarettes or the unlikeliest conversation with the most stunning creature he has ever laid eyes on, but at one point, his inhibitions are starting to leave him.

It’s now or never.

The dubious smile that comes out of you is involuntary. He can’t be serious, right? “You are so full of shit, aren’t you?”

“You don’t believe me?”

You look at him like, obviously.

“What are you gonna do, punish me for lying?” There’s that glint again, the bite against the inside of your cheek, and Art steps in.

Your heart catches. He doesn’t feel much like a boy now, inches away from you with a disarming look, his intentions crystal clear. And your head drops for a moment with a wry smile. “You can’t say that to me...”

“Why not?”

“Because!”

“Because? His grin widens, because for the first time this whole evening, he’s got the upper hand. And he likes it.

“I…” You blink at him, finding yourself cornered. Thankfully, though, your phone comes to the rescue, buzzing in your pocket and popping the tension between you and Art like a balloon. “I’m sorry, do you mind if I—”

“Yeah, sure.” he backs away a step, flashing an understanding smile. He watches you pick up the phone, looking out at the London sky. He would swear up and down that he didn’t mean to eavesdrop. He just loves to watch you gnaw at your lower lip in thought, study your moonbathed profile.

Listen to the sweet, sweet sound of your voice.

“Hi… no, I’m still at the— yeah. I’m not sure… are you still with…? Oh, good. Good, just checking. Say hi to everyone for me... Yeah, I’ll call you when I get back?” You catch Art’s gaze, and your stomach drops as you hear the dreaded words on the line. But again, you’re backed away into a corner. So you look away and say it back, “I love you, too. Bye.”

There it is.

Art really should’ve known this. He should’ve seen it coming. You were way too good to be true, but that doesn’t stop him from getting disappointed. No, his heart breaks on the spot, and he’s pretty sure you can hear it.

(You can’t. But you can see it in his face.)

The silence is awkward. It’s ugly. The steady sounds of cars passing by on the ground feels like it’s right in front of you. For the longest time, the two of you can only look out onto the horizon. Anxiously tracing the outlines of skyscrapers in sight.

He is reeling, like he’s been shaken awake from a dream. “So, I take it you’re taken, huh?”

The look you give him is apologetic, and it kills you as much as it destroys him. “Yeah.”

Art rubs at his jaw like he’s willing himself to say something, anything. “I see you’ve cursed me, then.”

“What?”

It takes him a moment to gather his words. Put together his thoughts in a way that you would understand. He didn’t mean it to sound so damning, but it’s the first thing that comes out. It feels like taking a boulder out of his throat. “By making me like you.”

Oh.

Your face falls. Of course. How cruel of you to play his game, knowing you’re setting him up to lose. “I’m sorry. I never meant to…”

“No, no. I’m not blaming you, I swear,” he quickly interjects. “It’s… not your fault one of us is a fool.” He smiles ruefully at nothing.

“It’s a shame,” you quietly admit.

And even then he can’t be mad at you. Not from the way he looks at you oh so tenderly. “It’s a real shame, love.”

There are no words, no more witty remarks. They’ve all been exhausted out of you. There’s nothing left to exchange but that soft look of resignation. Of defeat.

Of wishful thinking.

The cigarettes have long died out and forgotten, only the filters left between your fingers. Your ashes fall in a big chunk on the railing, while Art’s… have free-dived and dispersed in the muggy night air.

“I should go.” Your voice comes out in a whisper. “Let you go back to your party.”

Art can only nod. He keeps his mouth shut, not trusting himself enough to not beg you to stay.

You reach out, almost pulling back, but you can’t help it. Even if it’s just a nothing hand on his shoulder. “I’ll see you around, Art.”

He covers your hand in his, just for a second. His thumb caressing the back of your hand. His heart is in pieces, but at least he will have this. If nothing else, he will still know how your hand feels in his.

And just as quickly as it happens, it ends. Art doesn’t dare watch you leave. He misses your touch instantly, and the sound of your footsteps, and the door opening and closing follows. As Al Green’s ‘What Am I Gonna Do With Myself’ plays on in the party, Art looks out towards the London sky and lights another cigarette.

you did my concept so much justice girl I LOVE it

omg you just made my day after my long distance bf went home yesterday and i been like lowkey depressed since 😭

anyways!! i have 2 ideas!

first: (set during stanford era with reader also going to stanford) ong distance idea - you and art are on ft with patrick as he’s away competing and it starts off as just you all catching up as you do every night but then art starts feeling needy after a moment where he felt left out of the conversation cuz his adhd ass zoned out and got lost (very me coded tbh haha) and so he starts nuzzling and licking your neck. you don’t pay it any mind at first and just choose to ignore him knowing how your bf can be but then he moves behind you and starts grinding into your ass causing you to start moaning and whimpering. patrick on the other hand is just grinning at his two horny puppies as he encourages but also degrades the both of you as he jerks himself off whilst watching.

second: (set more in 2011 era with you all living together + a lil bit more hardcore so ignore if not comfy with it) tw lil bit of somno. it starts off innocent enough with both you and art deep in a calm puppy space napping together completely naked after going at it all afternoon with only your collars on as you wait for patrick to get home. when patrick gets home, he notices his puppies don’t greet him kneeling at the door as they usually do. he walks further inside and finds you and art on the couch in the living room covered in cum, he smiles at first but then smirks as he specifically told the two of you not do anything without him around but you just couldn’t help yourselves cuz you’re just horny little puppies. he walks over to the two of you, grazes his hand over your pussy making you flinch from how sensitive it is, he smirks again pushing 2 fingers inside of you teasing you awake. you whimper and then moan loudly causing art to wake up and then idk icb assed writing anymore but basically patrick teases the both of you for touching each other whilst he’s gone and then he fucks the both of you without letting either of you cum cuz you’ve cum enough today in his opinion

PUPPY!READER ANDDDD PUPPY!ART…. We won <3

Second concept literally has me salivating shivering shaking and quaking

Because the sight is so cute, Patrick just grins when he sees the two of you. You passed out on top of Art’s body, your hair in his mouth. Your chests and tummies and thighs smeared with dried cum :(( you just got so needy and had to play, neither of you could help it.

And yeah, you’re so sensitive— still wet and slick from Art cumming inside of you. Patrick rubs over your pussy, makes you squirm and sigh beneath him. You slowly wake up as he slips two fingers inside your sticky, used little pussy. It takes a minute as you blink yourself awake, but soon you’re whining and moaning as he thrusts his fingers inside, slow and deep.

Art wakes up, his cheeks pink and flushed as he listens to your moans, as he watches Patrick above you.

“There he is,” Patrick coos, a smirk playing at his lips. “Did you get so sleepy after playing?” Art nods, and Patrick pulls his fingers from your cunt and pressed them between Art’s open mouth. The blond moans, licking them clean.

“Poor little puppies.” Patrick grins, looking at how pathetic you two looked beneath him. “Too needy, hm? Couldn’t wait until I got home? You had to fuck like animals, get all messy and dirty.”

And sighhhh :((( Patrick making his puppies suck his cock together, make them make him cum while he doesn’t even touch them because they already had all their fun today :(( and you’re both whining and eager to please him, but you want his affection and attention so bad :(((

And if he makes you both curl up by his feet instead of sitting with him on the couch, that’s because it’s a privilege for good puppies only :((

Domestic Bickering Sentences, Vol. 3

(Sentences for problems - big, small, serious, and light - between muses in a relationship. Adjust phrasing where needed)

"I fail to see what you hope to achieve with this approach."

"How about we just go home and pretend this day never happened?"

"Don't you dare play the innocent with me!"

"You’re doing that thing where you pretend to know more than everyone else in the world."

"That look in your eye is a pain in my ass. You know that, right?"

"You're untidy! You've always been untidy!"

"You danced like a wildebeest!"

"You're too smart to play the victim."

"Don't be so grumpy!"

"I love you. I've just got a funny way of showing it, that's all."

"You're nothing but a petulant child!"

"I do hope that I'm not about to regret the soft spot that I have for you."

"Close your eyes and make a wish!"

"I can handle my own problems! I've done it for a long time before you came along!"

"Every once in a while, I like to hear the voice of someone who's on my side."

"Do you honestly think that now is the right time for this conversation?"

"Look, we all have tough days. All I'm saying is you've got to do your best to be nice to people."

"Are you mad at me or something?"

"Have you ever even tried to think about things from my point of view?"

"You keep promising that, but I don't see anything happening!"

"I'm competing for your attention again, aren't I?"

"Have you any idea how ridiculous you sound?"

"Can we just enjoy each other's company for a little while?"

"Go on; I know you can't resist the urge to say 'I told you so'."

"I'm going for a walk before I say something I deeply regret."

"So what goes on in here, huh? What are you hiding?"

"You're such a snob!"

"That was a really stupid thing to do!"

"Why didn't you say anything about this before?"

"Don't you dare!"

"You're too bloody perfect, that's your trouble!"

"What happened to your resolution to be more accepting?"

"Don't you ever get tired of hearing yourself talk?"

"Don't be an asshole. Do you want to hear this or not?"