Long Ass Break
art donaldson drabble
pairing: art donaldson x fem!reader
tags: fluff, domestic, married life, husband!art donaldson, tennisplayer!reader, tournament, coach!patrick
word count: 629
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Art was worried.
He watched as you ran off the court, your hand over your mouth as you tried for the life of you not to puke all over the clay court. Your opponent stood there frustrated, arms crossed over her chest, a scowl evident on her face.
Minutes passed and the murmuring of the crownd began to get louder due to your absence. Art looked around, his left hand scratching his head, a gold wedding band reflecting in the sun. No sign of you yet.
He was worried. He warned you about this happening, the pros and cons about playing in the tournament. You were stubborn, determined to power through because you’ve encountered worse. This was a piece of cake. Being your husband, he supported you but mostly, he just wanted to avoid your bad side.
Art glanced at the door you disappeared behind, his leg shaking in anticipation. You still hadn’t returned. The umpire was about to call the game. You were going to lose by default after being close to winning the whole goddamned tournament.
Fuck it, he thought and stood up to go through that fucking door. His heart racing as he pushed people from your team, muttering excuse me and thank you or whatever the fuck they needed to hear.
He reached the closed bathroom door, leaning closer to hear your retching as your stomach rebelled against you. His knuckles knocked on the bathroom door, as a courtesy and then pushed the door open.
Inside the bathroom, you were hunched over the toilet, clearly in distress. Art's heart clenched at the sight. He quickly kneeled down beside you, placing a gentle hand on your back.
"Hey sweetheart," he said softly, trying to offer some comfort. "Are you okay? What's going on?"
You looked up, tears in your eyes, and managed to croak out, "You were right,” you admitted. “I need a break.”
Art's heart sank as he saw you so distressed and vulnerable. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his comforting embrace. You felt a little better, the nausea still lingered around your throat but the urge was gone.
“You need to rest,” he whispered into your hair, sound muffled. “It’s starting to take a toll on you.
You sighed, tired, sweaty and defeated. “I know. Just take me home.”
Patrick burst through the door, concern and disappointment etched all over his place. “What the fuck is going on? Why aren’t you playing?”
You rolled your eyes as Art helped you stand up on your shaky legs. “I need a break Pat,” you said, leaning on your husband for support. “I need a long ass break.”
“A break?” He asked, crossing his arms in disbelief. “When have you ever taken a break?”
“Fuck off, Patrick,” Art grumbled at his best friend, turned your coach. “She needs a fucking break.”
Patrick scoffed, the sound making Art’s grip tighten around you. “How long is this break supposed to be?”
“9 months.”
Patrick's eyes widened in shock as the weight of your words sank in. He looked from you to Art, realization dawned on him. You shifted uncomfortably, wanting to just go home and sleep for the rest of the year.
"You're pregnant?" he exclaimed, his voice filled with a mixture of surprise and understanding.
You nodded, leaning more heavily on Art for support. "Yes, I am."
Patrick's expression softened, his initial frustration melting away as he realized the gravity of the situation. "I... I had no idea.”
“Now you do,” Art rolled his eyes, his own concern for you evident but the annoyance toward Patrick even more prominent. "I just need to take her home before she throws up all over you.”
Patrick stepped aside, offering you a supportive smile. "Congratulations, you fuckers. Take all the time you need. We'll handle the tournament."
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will sneaking mike in through his bedroom window so they can make out. and it's all well and good yk they're giggling and kissing but then hopper decides to check on will because it's like 11 pm and he's making so much noise and, in a bout of desperation whilst hopper is opening his door, will shoves mike off of his bed and onto the hardwood floor so hopper can't see him.
and like. hop knows INSTANTLY what's up (he already knows at this point that will and mike are dating) because will has a dopey lil smile on his face and a hickey forming on his neck and his clothes are all ruffled right. but hopper plays it off, asks will if he's okay, will says he is. alright then. hopper leaves. he knows mike is definitely somewhere in the house. probably with a forming bruise from the bump he heard.
unfortunately, will shoving mike off of the bed so abruptly did, in fact, give him a bump on his forehead, so he goes downstairs to get ice for it.
hop is downstairs, too, sipping coffee and watching as mike pulls a bag of peas from the freezer (mike doesn't notice him at first) and subsequently grumbles a, "hey, mike. fall off the bed again?" from the dining table. mike very nearly shits his pants.
(hop let's him stay, though, on the condition that there will be no "funny business".)
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