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liseytopia · 20 days ago

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white flag — a. donaldson ˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀

stanford!art x fashion designer!fem!reader

synopsis: art has been a part of your life—even if it's been mostly in the background—for two years. apparently the casual hookups and distant public flirting aren't enough for him. questions linger at the front of his mind all the time, but he's always too afraid to ask.. why are you so scared of commitment?

warnings n contents: slightly implied smut (none actually written), angst, reader has commitment issues and minor past trauma, hurt n comfort, halfway fluffy

word count: 2.6k

art has been spiraling since the first time he met you at an afterparty in his first year at stanford. he remembers so well, you were with your friends, laughing with a red solo cup in your hand while he watched from the perimeter of the room like an idiot. ever since he spotted you in the crowd, he found himself getting distracted whenever patrick tried speaking to him and his eyes always drifted slowly back to you like a magnet to metal.

when art finally gained the confidence to go up and speak to you, he quite literally almost fainted. it might have been the liquor's fault, at least partially, but god, you were drop-dead gorgeous. his knees were weak and he stuttered as you laughed at his flushed face. he did eventually leave the party with you, and it was utterly embarrassing just to get to that point, but art would never complain. he had the best night of his life with you.

art hoped, wished—prayed that he would get the opportunity to swoop in and ask for the pleasure of being your boyfriend after around the second hookup, but his dreams fell short. every time he'd tried to take a step further into the deep end, maybe kiss you a little intimately than he had before or give you those soft, pleading eyes that spoke 'i love you', you got worried you would drown and shunned him away. art never understood why. he wanted to know why you hated the idea of being anything but casual, and for a long while, he assumed it was his fault and started to take a step back.

so that leads you to the present. art's kept the casualness he knows you feel comfortable with; the lack of labels, the nights spent in each other's dorms once or twice a week—mostly yours, patrick wouldn't so much appreciate his roommate having sex in the bed right across from him.

you're twisted naked in the dingy sheets of art's college bed tonight, patrick is gone, most likely meddling in some situation with tashi. clothes are scattered all over the furniture and floor, your panties caught on and dangling from the corner of his dresser. both of your chests rise and fall in an undulating rhythm, basking in the afterglow of yet another night of having sex just to not even talk about it in the morning.

your eyes are trained on his ceiling, not staring at anything in particular, rather just concentrating on how nice it feels to be here right now. art's eyes are on you.

he swears you're glowing. the room is dim, just one lamp across the room on, but all he sees radiating from you is beauty and light. you're so gorgeous, he wishes he could pull you flat against him and give you soft little kisses over your collarbones and neck and cheeks, and whisper into your ear how he loves you endlessly, how you're perfect for him. but you're not dating, and this isn't love, so he continues to stare at you from the other side of the mattress instead.

a million questions are lingering at the tip of art's tongue. he feels vulnerable, vulnerable enough to ask you some things he's always wanted to know. even if that means you might react in a way he won't not like. but art is prepared—if he's had to live all these years staying strong for you and not absolutely crumbling because of your ignorance to his poor self, then surely he can ask you a few questions.

"darling?" art calls from beside you softly, his voice not harsh enough to slice through the silence but loud enough to get your attention. you turn your head to look at him, only to see that his gaze is already well fixed on you.

you hum in response, eyes drifting over the boy next to you. his golden curls are tousled from being tugged on, and those baby blues are looking at you like you created life. there's a small sparkle in them, even in the darkness.

art goes silent when you look at him. the more he sees, the deeper he falls down this endless pit of love for you that only leads to nowhere. your hair is messier than usual, your body is lazily tucked halfway under the sheets, most of it is outside in search of cool air because once again, the air conditioning unit in art's dorm room is broken.

you notice how art is staring and smile to yourself. he looks dazed. "earth to art," you tease, waving a hand over his eyes, which causes him to blink out of his lapse and laugh sheepishly.

art mutters something inaudible, rubbing a hand over his face. "sorry."

"what were you gonna say?" you question, curiously rolling the rest of your body over to face him.

art opens his mouth to speak but hesitates and shuts it again. he has so much he could ask you, so much he can say, but he's worried of scaring you off. he can't just flat out ask all the things that have been in his mind at constant: why do you neglect him except for when you want attention? why are you so appalled by the idea of a relationship? how come you never talk to him about how you feel?

so instead, he decides on something lighter. some small things he wants to know. after all, you didn't ever share much with him about you. there's still so much he wants to learn, and he needs to know more to have a chance at winning you over.

"do you prefer sweet or salty things?" art asks, his voice a relaxed hum.

you laugh. "what kind of a question is that?" you were definitely expecting a different response.

"i just wanna get to know you better," he reasons with a smile matching your own. "c'mon, it's a simple question."

"okay.." you drawl skeptically. "well, i like you, and you can be both," you say with a small hint of teasing in your tone. "but generally sweet."

art laughs at that one. of course you would say something like that. you have to be teasing him, right? you must know the effect your words have on him.

"what about parties?" art speaks up. "do you actually like the ones you drag me to?"

he can see you tense a little at his question, and he's sure there's more under the surface. "well, i wouldn't go to them if i didn't like them, right?"

"you tell me," art shrugs. he's definitely pushing for answers. he brings a hand to your side, skin still exposed, and pinches it playfully.

you giggle, squirming to push his hand away. "i like most of them," you mumble. "sometimes i kinda have to. gives me a better image when fancy people recognize me."

there's honesty behind your voice—something that art picks up on, but not entirely. you don't necessarily enjoy drinking, but of course no one would suspect that. sometimes the music gets too loud and your head starts pounding but when you keep dancing, nobody bats an eye.

art brings his hand back to your side, not pinching but rubbing gentle circles into the skin with his thumb. "you like the attention?" art says, and it isn't really a question, but he wants an answer anyway.

you relax at art's tender touch. it's making you docile; compliant. "sort of," you hum. "i like when business owners say they've seen my work, not when guys try to get up in my face."

art knows you. you've always had a knick for academic validation, most other fashion designers do. but you don't go out of your way to impress other people, no, you create for yourself. because it makes you happy. because it helps you express yourself and how you feel. that is what art loves you for—because you live life to the fullest for yourself and not for the impression of others.

"what about me?" he speaks up. "do you like my attention?"

the sparkle in his eyes are visible, even in the dim lighting. "always," you smile, and it makes art's heart beam. "'t's the only attention i want."

as much as your words fill his heart, he can't help but feel conflicted.

"then how come you never want to.. label this?"

your eyebrows crease. you blink twice, wondering if you heard him wrong. "what?" you ask, surprised. art never went around this topic. why now?

art's fingers go still against your body. he knows it's risky, but if not now, then when?

"this. us. what we have," he clarifies. his voice is soft, and his eyes are trained on his hand against the dip in your waist, afraid to look up and see what your face looks like. "why don't you want to call it something? anything?"

you sigh. "i.." you start, at a loss for words. you want to deny it, say that it isn't because you don't want to and rather that it just never happened, but you can't lie to yourself like that. lie to him.

truthfully, you're scared of commitment. you don't want to feel like you're dedicating your life to another boy who can only do bad for you. as much as you love art, it's hard not to believe that "boyfriend and girlfriend" is a cage for you.

"i.. don't wanna get hurt, i guess," you mumble, avoiding his gaze just the same.

art tenses. like a strong gust of wind, it finally hits him. the casual hookups, drunken nights, lack of labels. he's embarrassed for never realizing. and even if it hurts to know you're scared of being hurt by such a soft, sweet boy like him, he'll always be hoping.

"you don't think i'd hurt you, do you?" he asks, almost timidly like a dog that knows it's in trouble with its tail between its legs.

you inhale deeply. "it's not you specifically, art," you explain, attempting to keep your cool. "you're the sweetest boy i've known. but i've been through this before and i always get kicked to the curb and i'm done letting men rule my life," you continue more aggressively—not towards art himself, but toward all the men you've wasted your time on in the past.

"'cause all boys want is a sex doll and someone to worship them and once a girl falls in love, they just leave."

you're greeted with silence. agonizing, deafening silence.

art isn't angry—at least, not at you. of course he's angry at whatever dick made you feel this way. at the idea of a lousy douchebag taking you for granted and treating you like a trophy. he knows you're more than that.

you can feel hot, angry tears forming over your eyes and glazing over them with a sparkling sheen. your head is down. you can't let him see you like this, not after what you just said to him. your breathing is slightly labored you want nothing more than to just sink into the mattress below you and disappear forever.

"look at me," art instructs firmly, holding your chin up to keep you from turning away from him. the tears in your glassy eyes look wrong, he should be the one making you laugh. "i'm not like them, okay? i'm not going to let that happen."

your eyes finally look up to meet his gaze, and your eyes shoot straight through art's skin to his heart like a dagger. "well, i can't know that, can i?" you bite, and it's a sharp tone you've never used around anyone before, especially not him. "every time i think someone is different, they're not."

art tries not to get defensive at your words. he's a patient person, even if it stings to hear you talk to him like he's a soulless scumbag.

"you know me," he quips. his voice is quiet, bordering angry. "you know exactly who i am."

art releases his grip from your chin to tuck some of your hair behind your ear, his expression going softer. "you're letting some guys from the past ruin what we could have together."

his last sentence strikes a nerve, something you've never thought about before.

you can't dwell on the past to get better. you can't sit and wallow in self-pity for the rest of your life. you have to move forward. make progress. learn. experience.

"you're right," you choke, dipping your head down again and finally letting those agonizing tears have their way and flow down the apples of your cheeks to art's bare chest. "i'm sorry."

art shakes his head and pulls you close to him. he can't explain how he feels—god, he's so happy you finally realized, but it's never a good thing to see you cry.

he lays with you in silence, allowing you to let go. art's patience has always been something you adored. he won't complain, not when he gets to be with you and rub your back in soothing circles until you can speak again.

"you don't have to worry about all that," art speaks up after your muffled sobs turn to quiet sniffles. it's a bit of a sudden statement, but his voice is gentle and knowing, and it feels comforting to know he isn't upset with you. "not with me."

the words sink into your mind and you believe him. god, after all this time, how could you not? it almost makes you feel even worse for being so pessimistic and shunning art away.

you don't say anything, but art knows you heard him and he doesn't need a confirmation. you're waving the white flag. letting down your walls. art had a way of doing that, of punching at the stone-solid bricks with his bare knuckles, bleeding and broken and begging on his knees just so he could get to see the real you. it makes your faucet of tears start up again knowing he's done that for years. two years.

art continues to hold you, to soothe you through your tears, his body like a shield from the world. his chin is rested atop your head and his arms are caging you in, making sure you feel okay.

he has to admit it hurts that you don't trust him. it hurts like a knife to the heart, to know that you're scared to fall for him.

but he's willing to wait. he's got endless patience and he knows you'll come around with time.

"i'm not going anywhere, okay?" he attempts to get your attention once again by speaking, his hand moving to stroke the back of your head.

nodding, you curl into his body as your eyes drain themselves of your pity. your anger, worry, sorrow, love.

you've never realized how good it feels to be so close to art. it's like his body is somehow fitting just right with yours, like the missing piece to your puzzle, and you wonder why you haven't ever let this happen before.

finally, your head draws back from his ribs with puffy, swollen eyes and a pout on your lips. art can't resist the small smile that tugs at the corners of his lips. now you're both idiots for never realizing earlier that it's like it was always meant to be this way. you smile back at him, albeit weakly.

"you're a fucking piece of work," art can't help himself when he mumbles those words to you. his smile turns into a lighthearted smirk and he can't believe when you actually laugh.

"shut up—" you attempt to prove yourself otherwise before he silences you with a gentle kiss. it's wholesome, like a bandage over your bruised heart, like a reminder that he'll always be here for you even when you have your worst moments.

you momentarily adjust to the kiss, and it's all you've ever needed. it feels so right, so comforting. you're done hiding, and surely not for another stupid inconvenience that means much less than the love that you've found, the love you have now right in your hand that's holding art's like a symbol of your surrender.

if u enjoyed, please feel free to reblog or leave a comment to help me out! only kind comments and actual constructive criticism will be tolerated <3

check out my masterlist for more!

(@glassmermaids i hope you like it my love)

#⤷ thinking about.. ✶⋆.°#ART DONALDSON #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson fluff #art donaldson angst #art donaldson imagine #art donaldson x you #art donaldson fic #art donaldson fanfic #challengers #art donaldson challengers #challengers fanfic #challengers imagine

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liseytopia · 20 days ago

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steve harrington has gone through many, many girlfriends. most not-so-serious, such as prissy high school girls in pink dresses with a bitchy attitude. girls who only went to school for their parents who, obliviously, never knew that they snuck out of class anyways to smoke cigarettes in the bathroom and have sex with boys like steve.

then there was nancy wheeler. the starring figure. the girl quite the opposite who waltzed into his life and knocked him off his feet. not popular, not a loner.. but a straight-a beauty queen.

steve was obsessed with her, from head to toe. everything about her was perfect. she turned him around, made him realize what an asshole he's always been. steve felt things with nancy, intimate stuff he's never indulged in before. she was his everything—for a short while.

it went downhill. steve in all his new kindhearted maturity cared too much about a girl who was too focused on something that was in the past. it took away from their love. and you—you watched as it all unraveled. you were there when will byers went missing. you were there when joyce byers became the new crazy-lady of the town. you were there when the hawkins lab started covering up what you and your friends were trying to solve, and most of all, you were there every step of the way of nancy and steve's relationship, the demogorgan fight, the halloween party.

and, god, it took everything and a little bit more for steve to realize that everything he's been pining for was right in front of his eyes this whole time. steve doesn't need a life of the party, part-time, rebellious, snooty girl like he's always had or a goody-two-shoes with a perfect nuclear family. no, all this time, it's been you. he's just never realized it.

steve needed nancy at one point to help smack some sense into him, but you enlightened him in a way that no one else has before. he isn't drawn by the sex or intimacy. it's the way you're not afraid to be yourself at the risk of being different. you embrace the difference. he likes how your hairstyles are a bit different every day, how your outfits show just a bit too much skin in the winter but you say it's part of the fashion.

he loves your seemingly eternal routines you go through morning and night to get yourself ready and vice versa. he loves the way you get giggly when you're drunk, the way you're constantly dancing around your shared house with a jazz album he's never heard of before or fleetwood mac on the record player and the way your colorful nails tap on your glass to the rhythm of the song.

steve's enthralled by the way that you balance his energy perfectly. he keeps you safe and comforted and you keep him happy, grounded to the floor you walk on and the air you breathe; aware of the simple joy of life. you've told him once or twice or maybe more than that how much you love him to the ends of the earth and want to be with him for the rest of your life. he feels the same way and always will—especially when you share phone calls in the middle of the night when neither of you can sleep and plan your entire future with each other. you want four kids, even though steve insists on six, with a white wedding in june right here in your hometown. in all honesty, what was the point of going through hell to save hawkins (and the world) if you didn't want to stay here?

#the shit im doing instead of releasing the fic i said i would #im sorry i'll go work on that now #⤷ thinking about.. ✶⋆.°#STEVE HARRINGTON #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fluff #stranger things #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington blurb

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