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katsukistofu · 2 months

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my caffeine mix-up! pt. ii

contents ౨ৎ ⋆ hawks x fem reader. fluff. slightly suggestive. you accidentally pick up the number two hero’s coffee so picks you up instead. | part i

note: fukuoka is the canon location of hawks hero agency

You stare at the text for what embarrassingly feels like at least the tenth time this hour.

pick you up at 8 ;)

Was sent mere moments ago from the contact Hawks, that had several hearts next to his name that you don’t remember him putting, saved in your phone after he dropped you off at work this morning.

Nearly giving your coworkers who just so happened to be looking out the windows at the time synchronized heart attacks in their cubicles, which would’ve been very hard to explain to your boss.

Who, thank All Might, was not here today.

But the millisecond you walked out of the elevator onto your floor, their nosy natures quickly won over their states of disbelief.

Desperate for the juicy details, nothing could stop them from swarming you like a group of hungry piranhas, and you’re flooded with a sea of questions you’re simply at a loss for how to answer.

“How did you meet him?” “So when’s the wedding?” “Were you rescued in a villain attack that wasn’t on the news yet?” “Oh my god, did you two—?”

“Guys!” You cut them off with a frantic wave of your hands, you did not need to hear the end of that sentence. “We just happened to meet. I, uh.”

Your coworkers look at you with expectant eyes, eagerly waiting to hear your no doubt heart-racing meet-cute story with the hero so popular, that when the paparazzi got a picture of him sipping kombucha tea, the drink went out of stock in stores nationwide faster than you could even say its name.

“I accidentally took his coffee order.”

You cringe a bit as you finish, and you’re met with the most comically shocked faces you’ve ever seen in your entire life.

“You WHAT!?”

“Damn I literally just tweeted ‘my coworker stole Hawks’s coffee’ and it already has a hundred reposts.”

“Oh honey, you’re lucky our boss is out sick today. He’d fire you for that.”

“Yeah, Hawks is his all-time favorite on the charts since All Might.”

You groan. “I know! He was so nice about it too, I still feel bad.”

“You should be.”

All your coworkers simultaneously glare at your company’s front desk receptionist that somehow snuck up to your floor, who for some reason takes that as a signal to continue.

“I could never be illiterate enough to take his order if I was in that coffee shop.”

“No one cares, Janet,” everyone says in deadpanned unison.

Janet huffs and turns to leave, but not before pointedly throwing another withering look at you.

She never did like you ever since you politely corrected her grammar in that passive aggressive email she sent when you were a new hire.

Not illiterate your ass.

Throughout the day, you answer more emails, calls, and print papers in a daze.

When you go to forward an email, all you can think about is how his strong arms felt on your waist. When you go retrieve ink to refill the printer, all you can think about is his gentle yet firm grip that he had on your thighs.

This could not be healthy.

But what if it was? You’ve never been touched so intimately, so softly before, like you were something precious, even in your fleeting experiences with relationships.

No one’s made you feel this safe like he does from just being in their presence.

But you blame that on him being a hero. He was probably trained on how to calm civilians down, especially during rescues.

You don’t really think that applied to people who stole his coffee, but maybe that was just you trying to feel special.

With a shake of your head, you straighten yourself in your chair. You had to get it together.

No more thoughts of Hawks on company time until it’s time to clock out!

But it seems like the winged flirt had other plans.

hawks ♡♡♡ [12:00]

hey

[sent an image]

hawks ♡♡♡ [12:01]

saw a pretty flower on

someone’s roof and it

reminded me of you :)

You freeze when you see the notification pop up, mid-bite through the food that you picked up from your favorite aesthetically pleasing cafe for lunch.

With a mouthful of sandwich, you click on the message to text back, when suddenly the realization hits you.

You had no idea what to wear for the date.

Oh my god, what were you even supposed to wear? Was there some kind of etiquette for this?

I mean, it’s not like he’s taking you to the Hero Gala. It’s just a higher end homey sushi and ramen place, but still.

Pinterest probably didn’t have “cute date outfit ideas for going out with the freaking number two hero” in their search results.

In your mind, you nervously run through different casual but still elegant clothes to wear. Maybe that nice blouse you had been saving, the one with the ruffles on the sleeves? You bite the inside of your cheek. No, maybe your classy sleeveless turtleneck midi dress instead?

Ugh, but you’ve already worn it out too many times last month. Not to mention the current ninety degree weather would cook you alive in that.

You pray that the paparazzi wouldn’t dare to stalk you on your date, but imagine if they did and took a picture of you two?

Caption: Hawks takes girl that never wears anything else out on date.

Even worse, caption: Hawks seen taking girl that can’t dress if her life depended on it out on date.

Nope, not on your watch.

The further you brainstormed, the more each piece of your wardrobe seemed less and less fitting to wear for such an occasion.

An idea pops into your head.

What was Hawks’s favorite color? You could base an outfit off of that instead.

Thinking about it, it was probably red. Hell, if you had pretty crimson wings like him you’d forget every other color in the rainbow.

Should you text him and ask?

After a little mental wrestling yourself, you muster up all the courage you could possibly have on a Monday afternoon.

[12:20]

you

that’s so cute :((((

thank you <3

you

also random but what’s

your favorite color?

hawks ♡♡♡

ooh we playing twenty questions? ;)

you

lol i guess we are ;)

hawks ♡♡♡

hmmm ok then

hawks ♡♡♡

my favorite colors

probablyyy red

you

i knew it

hawks ♡♡♡

oh?

hawks ♡♡♡

been thinking about me

have you, pretty girl?

you

……..maybe

hawks ♡♡♡

you’re so cute when

you get all shy

Your cheeks warm at that, and you physically have to put down your phone for a moment to cool off.

[12:34]

hawks ♡♡♡

my turn

hawks ♡♡♡

whatcha having for lunch?

you

[sent an image]

sandwich :)

hawks ♡♡♡

ooh that looks yummy

you

it is!!!!

you

it’s from the cafe across

the one where i nabbed

your coffee lol

hawks ♡♡♡

ah when fate brought

us together by my overly

sweet latte

hawks ♡♡♡

i’ll make sure to stop by

it after patrol tomorrow :)

you

yay!!! lmk what you think

i want a full review

hawks ♡♡♡

yes ma’am (︶▽︶)7

you

what are you having for lunch?

hawks ♡♡♡

[sent an image]

just chicken lol

Of course he was. It did look good. The fried edges were perfectly crispy, and it was a nice golden brown color and—

hawks ♡♡♡

but i wish it was you instead ;)

you

!!!!!?1!?)$1&1$@-

hawks ♡♡♡

aw, you embarassed right now?

you

YESOHMYHOF???

you

YOU CANR JUST

SAY THAT

hawks ♡♡♡

whyyy nottt

hawks ♡♡♡

it’s true though! :(

you

oh my god i’m going to die

you

and this sandwich is

going to be my last meal

hawks ♡♡♡

noo don’t die

you

i will

hawks ♡♡♡

id miss you :(

you

then know that it

was all YOUR fault.

hawks ♡♡♡

pffft you're so cute

hawks ♡♡♡

wish i could see your

flustered face right now

you

STOP

you

i think i'm going to

have to block you

you

this isn’t good for my heart

hawks ♡♡♡

noooooooo!!!!!!

come backkkk!!

You had to bite back a fond giggle, feeling warm all over. How was it fair for him to be this cute over text and in person?

hawks ♡♡♡

okok but before you block me

which i don’t think you will

hawks ♡♡♡

send me your address so

i know where to pick up the

most beautiful girl alive <3

you

oh u smooth ass mf

hawks ♡♡♡

for you? always

you

UGHHH

fine here it is

you

123-4567 fukuoka, tenjin,

chuo ward, 8-91

hawks ♡♡♡

perfect

see you soon birdie ;)

After an eventful day at work, you’re turned around, glancing at your back in the mirror.

Even though the scarlet dress that falls just below your knees hugs your figure in all the right places, you still feel a little self-conscious in it.

You honestly haven’t touched it since you bought it at the mall with a friend, who insisted that red was your color even when you had wrinkled your nose.

But as you admire the smooth, soft fabric of it now, you can’t help but be reminded of a certain someone’s beautiful wings.

You think you were really starting to warm up to the color.

A spritz of your favorite perfume and slight touch up of your makeup later, you hear a knock on the door to your balcony.

That must be him!

You excitedly unlock the sliding glass, and you’re finally greeted with the sight of Hawks’s signature grin that you missed all day.

“Hey, pretty girl.”

“Hi,” you say back, a bit breathlessly.

As if you were the one who flew all across the city just to see him.

He takes the moment to look you up and down, not in a hungry, lustful way like you’re used to when you’re around other men, even when you’re not exposing much skin.

Hawks admires you.

Like you’re a statue of a goddess, made of the most pristine marble. Like you’re a beautiful cherry blossom tree at peak bloom, with the wind serenading your soft pink petals.

Like you’re something so divinely beautiful and enchanting, you deserve to be revered.

“Wow.” Hawks opens his mouth, but no other sound comes out. The bouquet he’s hiding behind his back for you goes limp in his hand.

For a man who never runs out of words to say, he’s been rendered speechless.

There’s a tingle of anxiety at your neck and you’re suddenly a little nervous. “How—How do I look?”

Hawks takes a deep breath, and finally speaks.

“You look absolutely, astoundingly gorgeous.”

Hawks’s lips curve upwards softly when you visibly melt, his touch sweeter than the caramel of his eyes as a hand tips your chin up to meet his warm gaze that the summer heat had nothing on.

“And that’s the least interesting about you.”

─────────

“This is really good.”

Is what you ultimately decide when you’re on the fourth piece of the unagi roll you ordered.

Hawks grins, you looked cute with your cheeks puffed up like that. “Isn’t it? I knew you’d like it.”

You nod while covering your mouth, chewing slowly to savor the delectable taste of the sushi. “I’m literally going to gatekeep this place so hard.”

“Good.” He reaches across the table for your hand with an amused laugh. “It can just be our little spot, then.”

You softly smile back at him.

“Our little spot.”

At that moment, the waiter comes over with Hawks’s shoyu ramen. “Enjoy!”

“Thanks!” Hawks beams at him, then turns his attention to the bowl in front of him.

Then a slight frown appears on his face.

You tilt your head. “What’s wrong?”

His worried eyes meet yours.

“You sure just sushi is enough? You can always order something else, it’s on me.”

“Oh no it’s okay!” You wave a hand. “I’m not really that hungry—“

“I don’t believe you.” A hint of a teasing smile plays on his lips. “Could hear your tummy growling a bit earlier.”

“You heard that?” You whine. How embarrassing.

“All the more reason to share my ramen with me.”

Your eyes widen. “You want me to?”

“I do.” Hawks stubbornly says, picking up his chopsticks to grab noodles with them. He holds them up to your lips, a growing smirk on his handsome face.

“Say ahhh.”

Throwing a quick glance around the restaurant, your cheeks flame. “Hawks!”

“What?” He’s still wearing that casual, shit-eating grin. “It’s just us and a few other people here, c’mon.”

You huff. “I can feed myself!”

“I know you can, birdie.” Hawks holds your gaze with piercing but warm eyes. “But I want to do it.”

You fiddle with your own chopsticks, looking at anything but his eyes.

“Please? Let me take care of you.”

Finally, you cave at his pleading expression.

“Okay.”

He feeds you, and you’re not still not sure why he’s so happy to do so, but you let him.

The owner of the sushi and ramen place laughs as he looks over at the booth you two had occupied a few hours before closing.

As always, there’s a generously heavy tip left on the table and this time a new, small note.

thank you, boss :> we’ll be back!! - h

─────────

It’s summer, again.

Keigo flies you back home in his arms after his patrol and your nine to five, and as you touch down on your balcony, the sky is starting to turn a brilliant gradient of orange, pink and purple as the sun begins to dip below the horizon.

His eyes are lidded as he pulls you closer to him by the waist on the couch.

“You like when I’m this close to you?”

In the privacy of your apartment with the only sound being the breeze from your air conditioning and the faint chirping of crickets outside, it’s like the both of you are in your own little world.

“Yeah.” You sound muffled while hiding your burning face in his chest. “You still make me nervous.”

“I make you nervous?” His low voice is lilting as he tilts his head, and pulls you even closer to him with a firm hand now on the small of your back.

Keigo smirks, drinking up the sound of your little gasp. “I’m gonna take that as a yes, little dove.”

You blink dreamily, disorientated by his warmth seeping through his sleeveless turtleneck and the feeling of his firm chest against yours. He was so cozy. “Dove?”

“Yeah. ‘Cause they symbolize peace, and you’re my safe place.” Keigo’s eyes soften at the way you snuggle into him in response. He was yours too, your comfort person. “You’re perfect, you know that?”

“Mmm.” You’re resting your head on his chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat. “Tell me again.”

“As many times as you want.” He leans down to whisper in your ear.

“You’re perfect.”

You let out a laugh, his breath was tickling your ear. “Kei, why’s your heart beating so fast when you say that?”

“Mm.” He offers you a sly smile, hand tracing circles on the small of your back as you lay on top of him.

“Guess you just do something to me when we’re together, birdie.”

Your eyes start to feel heavy, and you hug him even tighter at that.

“I’m so glad I stole your shitty excuse of a coffee that day.”

And it’s when he laughs from deep within his chest that you know he is too.

— Courtship feeding is believed to function as ceremonial pair bonding. The male bird usually feeds their female mate, and the resulting nutritional boost contributes to more and healthier offspring.

#sorry to all the janets out there xx #hawks x reader #hawks fluff #bnha x reader #mha x reader #keigo takami x reader #hawks x you #mha fluff #mha oneshot #bnha oneshot

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berberriescorner · 3 months

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"Late Night Cravings"

Characters: Simon Riley x Black!Reader.

Summary: Missing your deployed husband, you get a late-night surprise that satisfies both your cravings and loneliness.

Warnings: Steaminess, a bit of angst, loneliness, fluff, mentions of phone sex with suggestive language and descriptions, mild swearing, and lighthearted humor. Oh, and if I hadn’t already made it clear at the top of my blog: minors DNI. My content is for the grown folks👏🏾.

Authors Note: Hello my lovelies🫶🏾! I've been toying with the idea of writing for the Simon Riley/Ghost fandom for a while now. Thanks to some awesome encouragement, I finally took the plunge! This story idea wouldn't leave me alone, so I decided to say, "What the hell," and give it a shot. I hope I captured Simon to the best of my ability. Please remember that this is my first attempt at a Ghost fic…and, well, “I’M JUST A GIRL!🥺🥹😩😆” Okay, a grown woman, but a girl nonetheless. I had a wonderful time writing this, and I hope you all enjoy reading it. Word Count: 1,700+.

Inspired By♥️🖤:

The clock ticked past midnight, the silence of the empty house amplifying the sound. In the dimly lit kitchen, the soft glow of the refrigerator illuminated your very pregnant features as you rested a hand on your swollen belly. You sighed, heart heavy with longing for the man you loved, miles away on some unknown continent, carrying out numerous dangerous missions.

You stood there, staring at the array of food in the fridge, a wave of emotions washing over you. Pregnancy hormones wreaked havoc on your mood, and tonight, you found yourself overwhelmed with sadness and longing for your husband, Simon.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you reached for the phone on the counter. Your fingers trembled with emotion. You needed him. His comforting presence, the sweet sound of his soothing voice to chase away the loneliness that threatened to consume you.

"Hey, love," Simon’s voice came through the phone, warm and comforting. His tone was deep and smooth like whiskey on a cold winter's night.

Your breath caught in your throat. Simon’s voice was a mixture of relief and longing washing over you. "Hi," you replied sheepishly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Everythin' alright, angel?" your husband asked, concern lacing his words.

You sniffled, wiping away a stray tear. "I... I just miss you, Si. And I'm so hungry, but nothing in the fridge sounds good."

Simon’s heart ached at the sound of your voice, at the thought of you being alone, in need of comfort. "I wish I could be there with you, angel. You know I miss you more than anythin’."

A sob escaped your lips, emotions threatening to overwhelm you. "I’m sorry, Si. This is probably the last thing you need to deal with right now. I just wish you were home... I need you here. I need you to hold me. To eat junk food with me in the middle of the night. It’s weird not having you with me throughout this pregnancy. I got so used to you being around the first time. It never mattered how late it was. Whatever I craved, you either got up to fetch or prepare it. I miss eating with you. For goodness' sake, I probably sound like a blubbering cow. God I know I sound selfish. I’m sorry, Si."

“That’ll be enough nonsense. No more name-callin’. Eat all you want, beautiful. Vent all you want. ‘S no bother, love. Truly it isn’t.”

A flicker of determination sparked in Simon’s eyes as he listened to your words. "I may not be able to be there in person, but I can still make sure you're taken care of. Give me about ten to twenty minutes, love. I need to sort something out."

You pouted and whispered your agreement as Simon rushed you off the phone, still unsure of how to satisfy your cravings. You plucked a bottled water from the fridge. You waddled toward the living room. Your smile lit up the room as you noticed a pregnancy pillow on the couch. Simon had scattered them throughout the house before leaving. He wanted you to find comfort in any room while he was away.

Your fingers hovered over the remote, drawn instead to the flashing screen announcing Simon’s incoming call.“Babe, that was quick. I’m excited it’s a video call. I miss your f—” Your words came to a pause. He was no longer among his comrades. Your husband had whisked away to his sleeping quarters, all gear removed aside from his balaclava. Some would find it terrifying, but Simon knew that in the depths of your deviant little mind, you found it sexy, arousing even. The shirt and pants he wore underneath were deliciously form-fitting. He watched as your eyes roamed over his biceps. Though you couldn’t see, you were certain there was a sexy smirk underneath his balaclava.

“Eyes up here, angel,” he commanded, voice smoky and sensual.

“Damn it, Si. Now I’m craving both food and you. You cheeky bastard. Did I mention I miss your sexy ass,” you questioned in a teasing manner.

Simon leaned in closer to the screen, giving you a devilish wink. “Miss you more, angel. If you can stay up late for me tonight, I may have time to call you and render some special sleep aid,” he offered, voice smoldering with desire.

“Can’t we do that now?” you whined, mouth forming a slight pout.

“Not now, love. There are more important matters to handle first. I’m afraid my work isn’t done for the night. Can you be patient for me?”

“Yes, but—”

“Atta girl,” he husked, aware of what those two words would do to you.

You tried making a convincing argument, but a knock at the front door interrupted the conversation.

Confusion clouded your thoughts as you heard the sound of the doorbell ringing in the background. Stunned, you made your way to the front door, heart racing with anticipation.

Who on earth could be at my door at this hour?

“Um, Si. Baby, there’s—”

“I know. ‘S alright, love. Answer it.”

As you opened the door, your breath caught in your throat at the sight of a delivery bag from McDonald's sitting on the doorstep. A smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you realized what your husband had done.

"Si, you didn't have to..." you began, your voice filled with gratitude.

"Just open it, love," he interrupted, his voice warm and reassuring.

With watery eyes, you opened the bag to reveal an array of your favorite foods: chicken nuggets, a fish filet, fries, and a vanilla milkshake. Tears welled up in your eyes as you realized the lengths he had gone to make you feel loved and cared for, even from miles away. Simon understood that as a grown-ass woman. You could’ve ordered the food, but he knew it was more about the gesture and putting your mind at ease that mattered most.

"Thank you, baby," you whispered, love overflowing for the man who had stolen your heart many moons ago.

On the other end of the line, Simon smiled, his heart swelling with love for his wife. "Anything for you, angel. Now, let's eat together."

You giggled as his hand waved over an assortment of goodies you had sent in a care package.

“Baby, don’t you have any real food? Anything other than snacks?” you questioned, worried he wasn’t eating enough.

“Johnny’s on kitchen duty tonight. Not takin’ any chances. Eat up, love. Tell me about your day. Is the lil’ lad holdin’ down the fort? Papa left him in charge. And the littlest lad you’re growing? Is he still kickin’ you all night? He’ll be a ball of energy once he’s on the outside. You jus’ wait and see.”

As the two of you sat on the video call, sharing a meal, bonding over the love for your children. You felt closer than ever before. Distance may have kept you apart, but with a little FaceTime, all was right in the world.

After thirty minutes of conversation, the time came and Simon had to go.

“Duty calls, angel,” he gruffed, slightly annoyed.

“Go fuck some shit up, baby.”

Though your words were encouraging and playful, Simon saw the worry in your eyes. He did his best to put you at ease. Your husband playfully tapped the skull emblem on his mask. “Always a step ahead. Consider it done, love.” You offered a weak smile and chewed your lip nervously. Almost scared to end the call. Underneath the balaclava, his smirk disappeared. Your reservations could be felt even through the screen. Simon’s eyes darted around for a second before lifting his mask briefly. Your eyes connected as the usually stoic man offered you his most sincere attempt to ease your worried mind. Ashamed of him picking up on your innermost thoughts of panic, you broke eye contact. “Look at me, angel.” The beautiful shade of your orbs landed on his once more. “It’ll be alright, love. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be careful. Get some rest, and do your best to answer later tonight.”

“Jesus. You always know just what to say, and do you have to be so damn sexy when saying it? I just want to eat you.”

Simon dropped his mask back into place, voice lowered. With a hint of a growl, he responded, “Be sure to get that rest while I’m working, love. You’ll need the energy. I don’t care what time it is. When I get back. I want you pickin’ up on the first ring. Have that camera angle ready. ‘M going to watch you ride my pillow until you’re a shakin’, soppin’ wet, messy puddle. You’ll beg me to come. The filth that falls from my lips will be like music to your ears. I’m going to take you apart piece by piece with my words. Just to put you back together and do it all over again. You’ll be chanting the words ‘I can’t. No more, Si.’ How’s that sound, love?”

“Can you leave already? The quicker you depart, the faster you return,” you panted. “Fuck, Si. I’m so achy for you.”

“There will be no playing while I’m gone. Understood,” he asked, voice gravelly.

“Yes,” you purred.

“Yes, what,” he demanded.

“Yes, sir,” you moaned softly.

“Good girl. I have to go now, angel.”

“LT, wheels up in ten,” Johnny shouted from the doorway.”

“ I heard you the first time, MacTavish. Give me a fuckin’ minute.”

“Simon! Be nice,” you bristled.

Your husband turned back to the screen. He rolled his eyes as Johnny leaned in to meddle.

“Hello, dove. When are you going to leave this grumpy bastard for me,” Johnny questioned.

You started to reply with a teasing answer, but Simon cut you off with an irritated grunt.

“Gotta go, angel.”

“Okay, baby. You take care of my man, MacTavish.”

You giggled at Simon threatening Johnny while ending the call.

“MacTavish, flirt with the missus again.” Instead of ending his statement using words, Simon stared Soap down with a cold, emotionless gaze. His head tilted to the now black screen, and his hand moved to rest on one of his now re-holstered weapons. Johnny smirked, slapping a hand on Simon’s back. “That little lady’s got you head over heels LT.” Simon made no argument, just offered a grunt of agreement.

What did you think, my lovelies? Let me know in the comments! And if you enjoyed it, don't forget to reblog and share the love!

Divider: @firefly-graphics

Wasn’t sure who to tag😩…

Tagging a few of my love bugs💓:

@darqchilddaydreamz @thirtysomethinganduncensored @percosim @astoldbychae @theeblackmedusa @johnnyshoe @thabiddie23 @starrynite7114

…

Inner workings of my mind:

*thirty minutes after posting it-> “they hate it!”*

*takes deep breath. must fight the urge to delete it.*

😆😂🤣.

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joequiinn · 6 months

Text

The Dos & Don'ts of Fake Dating | E.M. x reader | pt. 1

[chap two] | [all chapters here]

summary: You propose a crazy idea to the resident freak of Hawkins, Eddie Munson. But maybe he was even crazier for agreeing to it…

notes & tropes: fem reader, faking dating, opposites attract, bratty rich bitch reader, super minor revenge plot, not-quite-enemies-to-lovers

a/n: Was I the only one who turned 18 a month into their senior year and then proceeded to spiral and become The Worst version of themself possible?? Well, this fic is semi-inspired by that shitty part of my life lmao. Reader figure skates though. I can’t figure skate, hurts my feet lol. I never expected to write a fake dating story, but Eddie Munson has had me bewitched for nearly 2 years now, so here we go.

(if you'd like to be added to a tag list, pls let me know!)

wc: 3.9k

Chapter One

The idea came to you during a student council meeting as the class president was droning on about the ‘85 homecoming preparations: you needed to do something crazy, something completely and utterly out of character.

Maybe it was because of your ex breaking up with you just weeks before school started. Maybe it was that senior year itch. Maybe it was the realization that you were turning 18 next week. Hell, maybe you just woke up that morning with a strong sense that the things in your life were no longer satisfying you.

Whatever the cause, since the start of your senior year, you’ve just felt so off.

Your ex, Duncan, breaking up with you right before school started was a low blow, and an absolutely shitty feeling - you didn’t date much, but when you did, it was never the guy that ended things. It wasn’t shitty because you were in love and oh so heartbreak, it wasn’t shitty because you saw a future with him. It was shitty because of how goddamn embarrassing it was.

To your peers, you were a couple that made sense, and in fact people had been urging you to go out for a while. And, obviously, you had grown to like him, considering that you were in a relationship for six months - you never would have put up with him for that long if you didn’t actually like him. But the fact that he broke up with you, and not the other way around, left a sour, spiteful taste in your mouth.

So, perhaps it was that break-up that made you feel different this entire month. Or maybe it was your impending 18th birthday, which made you realize just how close you were to legal adulthood. Whatever the cause, every single aspect of your life up to this point suddenly came under your deep scrutiny. You just weren’t… happy?

That made it sound bad, but what were you enjoying right now? What got you excited every day? As you sat in the student council meeting, zoning out since the very start, you came to think that maybe you had nothing going on right now that you genuinely wanted in your life.

Hell, you weren’t even on the student council because you enjoyed it, Janet just dragged you into it back in your sophomore year. You figured she loved the sense of importance it gave her. She and everyone else in the council probably got off on how important they felt, the dictators of Hawkins High School.

You always ran in this crowd, and before you never questioned it. The popular kids, the rich kids, the successful kids. You don’t remember ever choosing these friends and acquaintances - if anything, it seemed that these peers were all a constant, as if they’d always been there from the very start. You figured it was the natural state of the world - as the daughter of one of the richest men in town, you were predestined to end up here. Not here as in the student council, surrounded by other spoiled rich kids debating the difference between turquoise and cyan. But here in an even broader sense - in a finely curated life, in all the “right” circles, on the path to either greatness or becoming the trophy wife of greatness.

Up until now, you’d never questioned it. Yes, mom and dad, you were a popular kid whose free time was fully booked between college prep, figure skating, student council, dates with a cookie-cutter boyfriend, and everything else under the sun. Yes, mom and dad, you were doing everything they all told you too because it would look great on your college applications, because that’s what you’re supposed to do, because that’s how things have always been done.

It started to dawn on you maybe a week or so into the school year just how mundane you were - you never questioned your time spent skating or on extracurriculars, you never went against the order of things as dictated by only the most popular of your peers. That’s just what was done, what was always done. But after your ex dared to break up with you, you came to realize recently that maybe all of this wasn’t what you wanted - maybe it was time to start making some choices for yourself instead of worrying what your parents told you or what your peers thought or what to do to keep your boyfriend semi-happy.

So, you started to consider what exactly it was that you wanted. And that proved to be more challenging than you anticipated, which probably would have sounded extremely pathetic if you had said it to any of the people sitting next to you.

Did you like figure skating? Of course, it was your idea after all. What you didn’t like was the pressure from your mother to train and become an Olympian, a feat that was never your intention when you took up the sport at six years old. Besides, you told her, you were way past the age for trials, you’d never get in (or, at least, that’s what you told her, because how the hell would you know whether or not there was a cut off age).

Did you like your friends? You thought so - you’d known them virtually your entire life, so you never questioned your relationship with them. But proximity didn’t necessarily go hand-in-hand with likeability. Maybe some of them you actually liked, but the rest? No, they were just around because they always had been.

Did you like your relationship before Duncan broke up with you? No, probably not. Of course, your opinion of him and that entire relationship was soured now, but even at the time, you were probably just going through the motions, doing things that couples do without any real heart in it.

So… What did you want? What did you actually like?

It was jarring to realize that your entire life had been dictated and finely tuned for you from the moment you were born, that even the things you wanted had been molded into new shapes by your parents or your peers or your teachers.

Once you realized how little of your life was in your own hands, you couldn’t get it out of your head. You always saw yourself as someone who was in control, as someone who couldn’t be told shit. And yet, you came to realize that that was far from the truth. It was as if suddenly everything about your life was something you hated. You hated your classes, you hated your friends, you hated running in the same circle as your ex, you hated all your obligations. Through the first few weeks of senior year, all you felt was frustration, disinterest, and absolute boredom with everything around you. Something had to change. And during the bullshit student council meeting, you became determined to make it happen.

So, over the course of that boring as all hell meeting, you tried to figure out what you wanted, and how you were going to get it. You set a goal for yourself, silly but helpful considering the structure you were so accustomed to: you’d set your plan in motion on your birthday. New year, new you, right?

Once you gave yourself that deadline, you then had to think about what exactly you were trying to accomplish - yes, you wanted to make some major changes, you wanted to, in a way, become a new person, but how were you going to do that?

You settled on four key things to keep in mind:

You wanted to piss off your parents big time - your dad barely acknowledged your existence and your mom coddled you, so actually upsetting them would be a feat unto itself. You had to become so awful that even your mother would stop making excuses for you.

You needed to drop your friends - the more you thought about all the people you grew up alongside, the more you realized that you weren’t particularly interested in relationships with any of them. Whether you made new friends or not wasn’t a priority, in fact you kind of liked the idea of just being left alone.

You had to figure out what you actually enjoyed - outside of skating, you had no idea what really interested you, what you would like to do with your life and your free time. You figured it was time to do some self reflection and focus on finding things that you’d actually enjoy.

And, most importantly, you had to get back at your ex. Yeah, it was stupid to be motivated by a boy, but nothing would make you happier than seeing him worked up and frustrated. Your focus wasn’t on trying to win him back or anything like that - you wanted to piss him off, to exact some kind of revenge for making you look like an idiot when he broke up with you at a party that all your friends had attended.

How you were going to accomplish these, however, was yet to be determined. But they were a damn good starting point, and they got you motivated to become an absolute nuisance to everyone around.

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The Friday following the student council meeting, you decided to first experiment with a little something, satiate a mild curiosity. To anyone else, it was probably the most mundane thing in the world, but to a high schooler who thought graduation was life or death, doing anything out of the ordinary felt nail-biting.

You were going to sit at a new lunch table.

You had just two days left until your birthday, until you’d officially set your plan in motion, so you still had a little more time to come up with something. So far, you couldn’t think of shit. You were already someone who was blunt and commanding and mean, whose thoughts and feelings were always on your face, so people were used to you being bossy and a little miserable - you couldn’t start being meaner or blunter, you just knew that wouldn’t be enough. Maybe you could start skipping class, maybe you could start flaking on friends, but somehow none of that felt like enough, like it wouldn’t make a statement. You had to really make an impression, to really set yourself up for a total ruination of your social status, you just hadn’t figured out how.

But a new lunch table was as good a starting point as any, right?

You chose a table at the far end of the lunchroom; customarily your group of friends, acquaintances, and ex sat centrally, surrounded by the jocks on one side and the academics on the other. The new table you chose was only occupied by two other people, a dorky little couple who looked at you funny when you sat as far from them as possible. In turn, you gave them an icy cold glare, prompting them to look away quickly, like you were a Medusa who could turn them to stone.

Your stupid little lunchroom plan was a bust, though. Five minutes into your peaceful lunch, your two closest friends, Amelia and Janet found you, each looking perplexed and put-off by your seat of choice. They looked around before lowering into the seats around you, their expression full of something akin to disgust, as if sitting at a different table was that offensive.

“What are we doing over here?” Amelia asked judgmentally, eyeing the couple at the opposite end of the table. Across the lunchroom, a few people (including Duncan) from your usual lunch table looked at you funny, “It’s like we’re exiled or something.”

So dramatic, you thought while staring harshly at her.

“Change of scenery.” You answered plainly, stabbing at the food in front of you. Amelia hummed in acknowledgement, but still made it quite clear that she didn’t agree with the decision.

“What, does this have something to do with Duncan?” She jabbed, receiving another nasty look from you, “So, he’s a jerk? Get over it.”

You should’ve known this idea was too simple to work. Of course they’d just follow you like the lemmings that they were, just as unable to make their own decisions as you were. Yeah, you definitely needed to try something bigger to scare them off.

Briefly, you thought that you could maybe tell them, just say point blank, “Amelia, Janet, I hate being around you and this friendship is done.” But, again, you figured that wouldn’t be good enough, that they’d laugh at your mean sense of humor even if you reiterated yourself. In this crowd, being mean was never enough to make your point, because all of you were nasty, not only to each other but to virtually everyone you met.

And despite your well-known attitude problem, you still cared about Amelia and Janet, flaws and all. These were the girls that you’d known since you were five years old, of course you worried about their feelings at least a little bit - nearly 13 years of friendship would do that to anyone. Guess you had more of a heart than you gave yourself credit for.

You definitely needed a foolproof plan to get out of this friendship, this social circle, this popular bubble that you’d always been trapped in. The friendship had to end without you saying so. You had to push them out until they finally gave up on you. Make it seem like it was their idea, that would definitely work on them.

As you schemed, Amelia and Janet chatted around you. Various acquaintances stopped by the table, all with the same question: what the hell were you guys doing sitting all the way out here? Even Duncan was amongst those that asked, trying to ignore the way you glared daggers at him. Amelia and Janet gave various responses, all of which put blame on you as if this simple little decision meant their utter ruination.

As Duncan was preparing to walk back to your usual lunch table, a commotion rose out in the hallway, the echo of rapid footfall drifting in through the doors. Multiple heads turned to face the cafeteria doors with curiosity, some people peeked out into the hall to check what the yelling was about, scurrying back to their friends to report what they’d seen. You, Amelia, Janet, and Duncan all waited silently, sharing raised brows and curious looks.

Not even a minute later, Eddie freaking Munson came crashing into the lunchroom, a look of total glee on his face as he cackled, not even remotely fazed by all the eyes on him. As he tumbled through the cafeteria doors, you jumped a little at the burst of sound. Eddie’s disruption turned everyone’s heads now, the lunchroom silent in shock and loathing as the resident outcast ran between tables, heading for the set of doors at the opposite end of the room. Your gaze was locked on the shit disturber as he blew past your table, carelessly running into Duncan in the process, but even that collision didn’t slow him down. Duncan yelled at him, but Eddie was focused on one goal, and if this were a cartoon you definitely would have seen dust kick up behind him from how quickly he was moving.

Not too far behind was Coach Miller, a look of absolute rage marring his puffy red face as he pursued Eddie. It didn’t even seem to cross his mind that he was making a fool of himself in front of the entire student body - his only focus was stopping the offender of whatever shenanigans currently pissed him off.

Your gaze turned back to the excited Eddie, an undeniable curiosity rising in you - what the hell did he do to piss off Coach Miller this bad? Sure, the coach was always pretty damn temperamental, but you couldn’t recall ever seeing him look quite this upset before.

Eddie paused at the cafeteria doors to turn and pull a mocking face at the coach before darting from the room, as if nothing in the world could touch him and he was unstoppable.

As Coach Miller disappeared after Eddie and students returned to their usual conversations, albeit with an air of awkwardness, you stared at the cafeteria doors thoughtfully.

That’s when an idea began to form.

You needed to take a page out of Eddie Munson’s book. If anyone in this school knew how to be a thorn in everyone’s side, it was him. So, you spent the remainder of your lunch brainstorming, trying to figure out how to channel even a sliver of Eddie’s energy; you only chimed into the conversation when someone spoke to you directly.

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In the middle of fifth period, you still weren’t quite sure what your game plan was, but you at least had a vague starting point. While your history teacher rambled on about some significant European war that you couldn’t begin to care about, you tapped your pencil as you thought about Eddie Munson (a sentence that very nearly grossed you out).

You’ve known about him since your freshman year - at the time, he was a year ahead of you, but since then he’d been held back. People always sneered when talking about him, as if Eddie was the most offensive thing they’d ever encountered, as if he was some kind of plague. He went against all social norms you’d learned up to that point, he was contradictory to everything you’d ever been taught about social conduct and likeability - he wore ratty clothes, listened to scary music, acted out in the most theatrical ways possible, and never seemed to give a shit what anyone thought.

You had never spoken to Eddie personally. Through the years you’d had a few classes together, including your math class this year, so you’ve witnessed some of his antics. But really, you knew nothing about the guy. Just the things that everyone else told you, and those things were nothing good. Whether or not Eddie was as bad as people said didn’t matter to you. His reputation was shit, and in this instance that’s exactly what you needed.

So, how were you going to ruin your senior year with the help of Eddie Munson? Well, at the very least, maybe you first had to have a conversation with him. It would be pretty stupid to walk up to him and go “hey, Munson, I know everyone here hates you, how about we chat and you make them hate me, too!”

Maybe you needed to find a way to hang out with him? Pretend to be friends long enough that the rest of the student body begins to ostracize you? With a little amused huff, an even worse thought crossed you: maybe you needed to pretend you were interested in Eddie Munson for a while, that was sure to piss just about everyone off. Especially Duncan.

But then the idea gave you pause.

You could not pretend to flirt with, or even date, Eddie fucking Munson. No chance in hell that would work. No way he would go for it, and no way you’d be able to tolerate him long enough to convince anyone that you were even remotely into him.

But… maybe?

Shit, what a stupid idea.

Or maybe it was a brilliant one.

You mulled it over a few minutes longer - if you were going to, somehow, convince Eddie Munson to pretend to date you, you needed to offer him something in exchange, that was obvious. You needed to give him a good reason to help you out, or this plan was never going to work. Its chances of success already seemed slim to none.

You had one idea, though you weren’t entirely certain if he’d go for it.

Your Uncle Tom was a cop, had been with the force your entire life - and you’d bet he’s probably had at least one run-in with Eddie. Maybe you’d tell Eddie that you could get cops to leave him alone, to stop watching him wearily whenever they were around. You couldn’t promise him too much, of course, but you knew at the very least that you could get your uncle to leave him alone. Or you could even take the fall here and there for whatever trouble Eddie inevitably lands himself in - what cop was stupid enough to arrest the niece of a cop and the daughter of a man who owned half of Hawkins?

It wasn’t foolproof, and you knew there were flaws to be found, but it just might work.

So, with your mind made up, you rip a scrap of paper from your notebook and scribble out a quick message:

Let’s make a deal. Sunday. You pick the time and place. Locker #436

You’d hoped that Eddie would be smart enough to realize that you wanted him to write you back, to drop his own stupid note in your locker so you could meet up and tell him your stupid, crazy idea. God, this better work.

You swiftly raise your hand in the air, giving a small impatient wave when your teacher didn’t acknowledge you right away, instead trying to focus on his lecture.

He rolled his eyes when he spotted your hand in the air, pointing at you and saying in an annoyed monotone, “What’s so important that you’re interrupting?”

Without any hesitation, you state bluntly, “Lady troubles.”

The teacher looks shocked by how plainly you stated it. But because it was you that said it and not someone else, your peers didn’t dare laugh, although a couple boys seemed to choke in surprise or amusement.

“Go, go…” Your teacher waved you off before continuing his lecture, wanting to forget the small interaction entirely.

You exited the room and roamed the halls confidently. Eddie’s locker wasn’t hard to miss - he was one of the students that decorated the metal with crude permanent marker sketches, and the school was too cheap to care about replacing or painting over it. As you approached Eddie’s locker, you checked around to make sure no one spotted you; it wasn’t as if you were committing a crime, but you didn’t need anyone wondering what you were up to in case this plan didn’t work.

So, you slipped the note into his locker, returned to class, and waited impatiently for the final bell of the day to ring, hoping that Eddie would actually stop by his locker and not just leave school without ever seeing your note.

When the end of the day came, it took everything in your power not to rush back to your own locker - just in case, you didn’t want him spotting you there. Why all the secrecy, you sure as hell didn’t know, but you nonetheless continued it.

So, you waited, stopping into the bathroom to check your makeup, walking with Amelia and Janet as they stopped at their own lockers. As the three of you exited the building and walked into the parking lot, you pretended to remember something, telling them that you needed to run back inside. You said your quick goodbyes and went back to wandering the halls, finally opening up your own locker.

It was stupid that your heart leapt when you saw a crudely torn piece of paper resting on top of some of your belongings.

You opened it quickly, eagerly reading the metalhead’s response:

Picnic table behind the football field, 4.

God, what were you getting yourself into.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you #stranger things #em #dos and donts

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daydreamerdrew · 2 years

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The Avengers (1963) #12

#and also even though it doesn’t seem like through being a part of the team that the members have become friends with one another #the exception being that Janet and Hank already had a personal relationship and so continue that #the other exception is that Steve and Rick are actually really involved in each other’s lives personally #and are becoming noticeably closer over time #this is actually making me realize how charming it is that Rick is the kid from the Hulk’s origin story #but even though the Hulk has left the team Rick has stayed behind and become attached to another character #like it’s cute #he’s gotten himself into a much nicer story #I’m assuming that Steve and Rick are living together at the Avengers mansion but I don’t remember if that’s been explicitly stated yet #marvel #steve rogers #rick jones #my posts #comic panels

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tinytennisskirt · 1 month

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Kiss Me

art donaldson x bestfriend!reader

summary: to keep your crazy ex at bay, you and patrick instill a facade of fake-dating, brought on by an impulsive move that art missed the opportunity to take. art, who has had a thing for you forever, is completely crushed, but you’re only FAKE dating patrick. you do have real feelings, y’know?

warnings: kiss!!!!, mention of punching and blood, broken nose, mentions of marijuana, angst, slight miscommunication trope and fake dating trope with a twist!!!

“kiss me,” you said, looking at the boys a little desperately. both of them went wide-eyed, art turning slightly pink. “please! now! one of you kiss me!”

“what?” art says, eyes as big as plates just as patrick lunges forward, grabbing your face and kissing you. now this was a problem because number one, art donaldson has had the biggest crush on you since the moment he met you in the stanford cafeteria, and two, it was his best friend who just kissed you. there’s no escaping that. what the fuck.

art just watched as you kissed him back, a little shocked and little dumbfounded and honestly a little bit crushed. he pressed his mouth into a line for the duration of the kiss, not able to take his eyes away or even blink. he’s just second-guessed and missed out on the opportunity of a lifetime and patrick just took it. patrick. patrick who had to ask what your name was three times the same day he met you because he kept forgetting.

he watched as you pulled away, feeling his heart strings pull. “i’m so sorry, patrick, but thank you.”

patrick grinned, “you’re welcome.”

“hm… why?” art asked, trying not to focus on the way you wiped your lower lip with your thumb. he felt winded, if he was honest. no fucking way you just walk into a room and ask to be kissed by one of them and he doesn’t take it. no way that just fucking happened.

you were a little panicked, though, it seemed- the way your eyes darted around the room. “my ex- the crazy one. he’s here at stanford by some fucking… crazy chance? i knew he was coming to talk to me, i just needed to look… taken.”

“by me?” patrick laughed. “poor guy.”

art’s mouth fell a little open. “so you needed to be kissed?” his emphasis on ‘kissed’ came out bitter.

patrick shoved art just a little, ruffling his hair, “someone jealous?”

yeah, he was jealous. he was pissed. more than. he pressed his tongue to his cheek, “your ex is here?” he ignored it. “like on campus or going here?”

“i don’t know, but i’m kind of terrified.” you said, folding your arms. “i’m sorry about the kiss, pat.”

“don’t be. wasn’t the worst kiss i’ve ever had.”

“okay, rude!” you hit him in the upper arm.

“it was good, i promise.” he laughed. art felt just the slightest bit sick. “but what’s this guys deal?”

“obsessed with me.” you replied, your usual fun and carefree personality silenced to a serious monotone. “it was hard as hell to get rid of him back home but he’s here and that alone is scary as hell.”

“i get that,” art said, turning to patrick. “you remember that one girl janet back at the academy?”

patrick chuckled again, “oh yeah. art had his own little stalker.”

“really?” it seemed to cheer you up. “what did she do?”

“i’ll tell you back at my dorm. don’t need you hanging out where this guy is.” he offered. you agreed and the three of you walked back to his dorm, telling you the janet stories. you did end up feeling better but it was patrick who beat art to walking you back to your dorm. fucked.

art just sat on his bed, knees to his chest, hands draped over his legs wondering what the fuck just happened and how things got so fucked up so fast. the thing was that this was the only crush art had ever withheld from patrick. how fucking stupid did it seem to have hid it now? god, he was so fucked for it. no way patrick could say he kissed you now, that was fucked. and stupid. and lucky. his face fell into his hands as he flopped backward on his bed, hoping patrick came back quickly.

art’s stomach kept flip-flopping at the thought, remembering how you kissed patrick. you kissed patrick. it was so stupid! so fucking stupid. by some hesitation, he fucked everything up for himself. he could have kissed you. he could have KISSED YOU. he groaned out loud, rolling just slightly in pure frustration. this is what he got for keeping shit a secret.

the next day, the three of you were eating in the cafeteria. you and patrick on one side, you sitting across from art. “so he’s definitely going here now-“ you said, gesturing with a french fry. “which is insane and a little bit threatening.”

“he wouldn’t try anything, would he?” art asked, concerned.

“i don’t know,” you shrugged. “he did back home and it was bad. and he’s here and he knows i’m here and the look he gave me yesterday…”

patrick spoke with his mouth full, “as if he could get past me. and art.” he said. you smiled, art hated how beautiful it was when you smiled at his best friend. patrick swallowed his fries, “there’s no way he’s getting close with us around.”

“what if i’m alone, though? class to class? or class to dorms?”

art was about to offer to walk to to and from whenever he could but patrick spoke first, again. never had he wanted to jam a fork in his best friend’s throat so quickly. “i’ll walk you. you said yesterday you wanted to look taken, so i mean, it would keep up appearances.”

you gasped and grabbed the table, “oh my god. fake dating. like in the movies. that’s such a good idea.”

art wondered if you remembered that the fake dating trope always ended in falling for each other for real. he felt his chest tighten, there was no way fake dating was just suggested because patrick kissed you first. “i don’t know about that,” art said. “if you have to say ‘like in the movies’ is it a great idea in real life?”

“it could be?” you shrugged, looking at patrick. “maybe it will. and then once he knows to leave me alone for sure we can just go back to normal. if you’re up for it, pat?”

“yeah i’m up for it,” he says. “i don’t have anywhere to be but here anyways.”

“true,” you nodded.

art just covered his mouth with his hand and looked somewhere else. he couldn’t eat anymore. this was actually happening in front of his eyes and he couldn’t say anything or do anything about it. his chest stayed tight, as if someone had laced around his rib cages and started pulling hard. he bit his cheek to keep from showing just how much this hurt him. because it did, it hurt him, no matter how innocent it was on your end, on patrick’s end. well, maybe not on patrick’s end. art wasn’t sure about how patrick really felt on the topic- he could only hope that patrick didn’t see real potential…

you placed your hand on art’s, trying to get his attention again, “oh my god you’re freezing.” you said, squeezing his hand just a little. his attention fell on that, on you. “you’re okay?”

“with what?” art said, a little presumptuous.

“just asking if you’re okay. you stared off for a bit there.” you said, hand still intertwined with his like it was nothing. it was nothing.

patrick was focused on his food. and art already hated third wheeling a fake couple. “i’m fine, i just remembered i have some shit i have to do before my next class. i’ll see you guys back at my dorm later?”

“oh, meet at mine,” you said as art got up with his meal that was only 1/4 dug into. “just in case you-know-who is around?”

“yeah,” art nodded. he didn’t have many words left in him. he was sure if he forced words out it’d be some monologue about how frustrated he was that he missed the fucking opportunity to kiss you and this was snowballing and he was not feeling good at all, in fact he was feeling really sick. “see you guys later.”

he didn’t see the way your eyebrows furrowed when he walked away. patrick did though. “was that weird?” you asked him. “the way he got up and left, was that weird? am i imagining things?”

“no, that was weird.” patrick agreed. “i don’t know what’s up with him though, he hasn’t said anything.”

“nothing?”

“he was like that last night when i was over after you left. didn’t talk much.”

you twisted your mouth to the side, wondering what could be up with him. but he didn’t say anything, not for the two weeks that you and patrick were fake-dating. art pretended like he was fine when patrick walked you to art’s dorm room to hang out, pretended like he was fine when you sat with patrick in the stands at his own tennis game, too close for comfort just because your ex was in the crowd too. art lost that game just thinking about how much he wanted to toss his racket right at patrick. it wasn’t out of hatred- he did not hate his best friend, he was jealous of his best friend. all because art hesitated and he didn’t…

and you kept wondering why art was so distant. was he upset with something? what was he keeping to himself that made him so standoffish? you were determined to know because obviously two weeks is a while to be ‘out of it’ as art claimed he was.

you and patrick held hands at the table, you were trying not to look at your ex who stood in the corner on his phone, standing facing you. “your hands are really hot,” you said to him, chuckling.

“that’s not me.”

“that’s all you,” you said, laughing quietly. it doesn’t sound very genuine, you were nervous. art could tell. “he’s still watching?”

art pretended to scan the cafeteria, noting the cold gaze your ex set on you. patrick had two people in this room to be jealous of, which sucked. patrick for the hand he held and your ex for the simple fact that he had you. he was ugly, to be honest. not a great looking guy but apparently enough to date you at some point. fuck. he nodded back at you to tell you yes, you were still being watched.

you wished you didn’t have to hold patrick’s hand. the fake dating thing wasn’t so bad, it was just added actions to hanging out with your best friend. just a few kisses and he wasn’t bad- but there was nothing in it. it was funny if anything, you usually ended up laughing about it. it was so dumb. maybe you could let your hand slip out if his… his hands were sickeningly warm.

art stared at your intertwined fingers. fucking sick and jealous and upset. you, perfect, pretty, purple nail polish, lip gloss, quick humour and soft gaze and your hand was in patrick’s. unappreciated, almost an empty gesture. patrick didn’t like you. not the way art did, not the way art could have. if he didn’t fucking hesitate. if he’d kissed you then. it would have been so easy… he watched your hand slip out of patrick’s and brush against your jeans. art hated how it made him smile just in the slightest. but it was fleeting. patrick reached his arm around you and pulled you closer and art swore he felt his heart drop a few inches in his chest. he should have been used to it by now.

but he wasn’t when you hugged patrick the next day when saying goodbye, your ex just always around. art was on his way to trying to get rid of this guy just so you’d stop touching patrick. art, a sweet boy, thinking about kicking this guys ass just for patrick to take his hand off of your waist. it was killing him, it was taking him apart.

it killed him when he watched all these empty acts… why was your ex always fucking there? it was crazy how afraid you were of him but so rightful, why was he always around? but you hugged patrick, you kissed him on the cheek, you held his hand and it was vile and it hurt, this ache in his chest never dulling. even when you weren’t around, it was still there. art prayed for easy sleep most nights, if he was awake laying in bed it would eat him alive. his chest would tighten to the point of pain. he missed out on one thing and spent every night just repeating that moment of hesitation, that mistake.

you and art alone was hard to come by naturally. usually patrick was around, even if the both of you didn’t want it. you sat with him in the library. “you’re so lucky that janet girl didn’t follow you to stanford,” you groaned, resting your head on your arms on the table. “i miss being free.”

“you can be free.” art said, closing the book he was looking at. “he shouldn’t control anything. fuck him, honestly.”

“don’t remind me,” you groaned again, putting your face into your arm. “i feel haunted and i’m scared, im never not scared.” your head turned on it’s side, facing him without lifting your head. “his actions back home, if the cops hadn’t gotten involved i don’t even know what would have happened. he got a warning and i moved away but he’s here and he’s everywhere. it’s a good thing he’s not literate.”

art smiled just a bit at that, but not all of that. you smiled too. he was glad you were making light of it. it was good to see you not so on edge without being in your room or his. “i’m sorry you’re scared. you have the right to be, but i wish you weren’t. he’s here, yeah, and as long as patrick and i are around, he won’t get to you. not even a word. i catch him within ten feet of you, he’s done.” he pulls a loose string off of your sweater- “can you still do that cartwheel thing?”

“yeah i’m gonna cartwheel him to death,” you nod. “i’ll teach you if you want to help me tag team him with cartwheels.”

“i think if you can do it, he’s already a goner.” he pushed your hair out of your face and you smiled, shutting your eyes, enjoying the peace of a public space without the eyes of anyone but art. art was a quiet contrast to the whirlwinds and overstimulation of feeling watched and having to hold hands or be touching patrick in some way. art was a perfect break from it.

he watched how you looked with your slight smile on glossy lips, your eyelashes perfect as your eyes laid closed. and more than any time he’d seen you and patrick, more than any touch and kiss he knew you’d exchanged with his best friend, he was the angriest he’d ever been that he didn’t kiss you then. the angriest. but it coexisted with the extent of how he felt about you, being here with you, the extreme happiness. art donaldson was a fairly simple guy but you were so… how could he not be…

fuck.

the next day it just about ripped him to shreds to see you kiss patrick again. even after you pulled a bit of a face. and it was too much. he couldn’t do it anymore. his avoidance worsened, he tried to get out of hanging out as much as he could. he couldn’t bear seeing the empty affection. how lucky patrick was to get to do it. he just couldn’t see it anymore. he got further and further from you both. hanging out with you alone only sometimes, patrick alone sometimes. he felt a little outcast but it was his own doing for his own good.

you enjoyed all the time you got with him alone. he was the peace and quiet. he was the next safest thing but without the pretending part. with him you didn’t have to pretend anything. you’d just talk, laugh, he made you laugh so much you almost forgot you were having an ex-boyfriend crisis. he was sweet and he was so kind and it was refreshing to know someone who just wanted to spend time with you. and you didn’t have to be anyone for anyone. but you missed hanging out with him the way you used to- which was a lot more, and you missed the three of you hanging out, smoking, talking, dancing, being weird and loud. it meant a lot to you and it just sucked when he wasn’t there. you had to fix it. you had to see him more!

you caught him after one of his late evening classes, running up from behind and covering his eyes. “guess who?”

“it’s not patrick…” he said, small smile on his face as you uncovered his eyes and began to walk his pace next to him. “hey.”

“hiii,” you lead. “so i was wondering if maybe you wanted to get dinner?”

he looked the other way to hide how his eyes widened. “dinner?” he looked back at you.

“yeah. nothing crazy, i mean, probably just the campus bar if you wanted.” you just wanted some time alone with him in a good setting. maybe start going out without patrick…

art pressed his lips together, looking at you. dinner meant patrick. the campus bar meant a risk of being seen by your ex. appearances were important, after all. “i have chinese leftovers,” art lied for the sake of not having to be around you and patrick and the fake hand-holding and all of the things that made him nauseous. “i’ll see you after though?”

“oh.” you said, smiling. “why don’t we skip dinner? i can grab something on the way back to your dorm.”

“it’s fine. i’ll see you after, no problem. i think patrick has an ounce on him still, we can smoke or something.”

“yeah.” you said, honestly a little embarrassed your attempt at hanging out with him alone had failed. but even with that, he still “i’m just going to head back to my room. what time do you want me over?”

“maybe nine? make sure patrick doesn’t forget his rolling papers.”

“i won’t…” you said, noticing how art’s pace picked up. you had no idea how badly he wanted to get away from the idea of you and patrick out to dinner for appearances. “art?”

“yeah?”

your next words sounded a bit insecure. you swallowed them and decided on saying something else. “i like your hat.”

“you bought it for me.” he smiled.

“i know.” you smiled back. “see you later.”

“see you.” the second he could, his face turned to an expression of disgust. this whole thing was so stupid- all of this because he hesitated. bullshit. he’d almost gone a day without thinking about it. when would it end?

you went back to your dorm alone. or you tried. earbuds in, ipod on, listening some 90s hit you’d been obsessed with again lately and it didn’t occur to you that this was the first time you’d walked across campus alone. you had shortcuts patrick showed you, alleyways between residencies.

and there he was. him. by chance or by choice you didn't know and the second you realized was the second you realized it was too late and he had you blocked into a corner. your earbuds fell from your ears as he began to curse at you. the events began and you tried to use your speed dial to get either art or patrick, but you could only click patrick’s before he yelled at you to put your phone down. patrick didn’t pick up.

you were afraid.

it was forty minutes later when art got a call from patrick, asking if he was free. just on a whim.

“hey, you up for anything?”

art blinked, “you’re with Y/N?”

“nah. actually, i didn’t call while you were in class, but she said she was going to ask some guy out, i think the fake dating thing is done for.”

art’s stomach did it’s first front flip instead of a backflip. “done for?”

“yeah, honestly i’m glad. she’s been scaring away a few girls i’ve had my eyes on. not that i minded helping her out, it just- she’s not my type, you know? she’s a good friend but i couldn’t… you know.”

art rethought you finding him after class. he was fucking stupid- asking a guy out, asking him out? he didn’t know if he was crazy but when you mentioned getting dinner you didn’t mean with patrick, you didn’t have plans with patrick. oh fuck, art thought, feeling five things at once. distress, joy, stupidity, a bit of anger, and regret. “she say who she was asking out?”

“no. but i’m happy for her. i think she’s not afraid of her ex as much anymore. plus, fake dating or not we’re still her friends and we’re around her pretty often. the guy wouldn’t go near her with us around.”

“that’s what i keep saying,” art nodded as if patrick could see him. he was grabbing his sweater and shoes as he spoke. “listen- uh- come meet me here at campus at ten. i might not be back at ten but you know where the key is. i gotta go… bring rolling papers.”

“done,” patrick agreed. “talk to you later.”

“bye,” art said, leaving out the door. if he was right, you’d just asked him to dinner and he had said no. without hesitation this time, he had said no. he said he had chinese leftovers, he didn’t have anything. fuck. so stupid, you were probably at your dorm alone right now. fuck! fuck, fuck, fuck.

he ran a hand through his hair as he jumped the stairs and left his building to head over to yours. walking a little faster than he had control over- breaking a jog. yes he’d go to dinner with you, what the fuck, how did this happen, did you like him? his head was a bit of a mess but he had to find you. he called you on his way over but no answer. he walked up to your dorm and knocked, but no answer. hm. maybe he wasn’t the guy? or something. his brain drew conclusions and he checked the common rooms on his way downstairs and outside.

fuck. did he miss a chance again? again, after all of this? another chance? he’d had too many taken from him but this was his own fault.

“i’m sorry, okay!” you said, voice shaky. you were trying to be loud without letting him know you were trying to draw attention to yourself so that anyone might intervene. “i’m sorry we haven’t spoken, i didn’t know you wanted to.”

“bullshit. you saw me, you didn’t even say hi.”

“hi! please, can i just go back to my dorm i don’t know what else you want.”

“you know what i want. what i miss. what i know you miss too, i know that patrick asshole doesn’t give you what i gave you…” trauma, you thought. fought not to say it to his face. but you were afraid. “you miss me.”

“i-“

“bullshit! just because you have a boyfriend doesn’t mean you don’t want me.”

“can i please go back to my dorm room? if you don’t let me go, i’ll scream.” you said, a little more panicked by the second. he stepped closer and you stepped back into the wall. “i will scream and you will be caught.”

“you’re not going to be screaming anything but my name-“

“please.” you pleaded. “it’s not worth it.”

“yeah?”

“yeah.” art said, punching your ex in the face, hard. pain immediately splintered up his hand and into his wrist. he hissed a bit in pain, immediately shaking his hand out. “fuck.” he’d never punched anyone ever in his life. not like that.

you covered your mouth and watched as your ex raised his hand to his nose, bleeding and honestly disgustingly crooked. art broke his nose. you reached to the side for him, unable to take your eyes off your ex as he scrambled to his feet. he wasn’t the type to fight and he was a coward, always was. your hand found the sleeve of art’s shirt and you grabbed hard.

“fuck you,” your ex seethed, blood running down his face. “say goodbye to your tennis career buddy, that’s assault.”

“and what were you about to do?” he had never felt more adrenaline in his body. he wasn’t himself. your ex went quiet and if there was ability to turn red even after bleeding, he was pink in the face. he stumbled, stuttered. And hurried off. “fuck!” art said, holding his hand with the other hand. it pulsed in sharp pain. “jesus-“ his eyes fell on you and immediately he was pulling you into a hug he didn’t even hesitate about. his hand hurt like hell but with his arms wrapped around you he ignored the pain coursing through his fingers, hand, and wrist just to squeeze you tight. you were breathing hard, a little ragged, a little bit like you were trying not to cry. “you’re okay.” he said gently.

he made sure not to get the blood from his knuckles on you. it was more important to hold you than it was to tend to that right now.

you could have stayed in his arms a while longer and he would have let you, but things sunk in. “you punched him.”

he winced in pain again, “not properly. fuck, this hurts. i’ve never punched anyone before.”

he knew you were still in some state of shock and surprise and frankly, so was he. “that was…” you saw his hand, how badly he’d hurt it, your hands gently grabbed it. “oh my god, art…”

“it’s fine,”

“it’s not fine. i’m so sorry, does it hurt badly?”

“no, not much.” a lot. “just a bit.”

“i’m so sorry, art, i’m so sorry, thank you, that was… crazy.”

art almost chuckled. you were sorry, of course you were. you were the sweetest girl in the world, sorry for something he did. “why are you sorry? don’t be sorry.” he said.

“you didn’t have to do that,” you said, taking his fucked up hand in your own.

“what if i told you i really wanted to?”

you smiled just a bit. you knew he wasn’t violent. in fact, art was one of the most gentle people he’d ever known. “thank you. i think if anyone was deserving, it was him.” you held his hand the way you did and it was gentle in return, but your hands were shaking. you looked him in the eyes, grateful and genuine. “come on. let’s get this cleaned up.” you said. the pain in his hand almost dulled when you looked at him, he swore. it returned, shooting and throbbing as he followed you into your dorm room.

he sat on your bed and you came over with your little first aid kit and some water. your hands were still shaking. “you’ll report him later?” he asked.

“i think i will. will you come with me?” you asked, wiping the blood that wasn’t near any of the wounds.

“of course.” he nodded. “you’re okay though?”

“i will be.” you nodded. in the dim of your dorm room, the lamplight warm, he saw you smile just a bit. his heart beat hard in his chest. he understood your short responses. “i was just walking home… he cornered me, i didn’t think he could. he did.”

“he won’t do it again.”

“i know. he’s a coward. once he’s caught he backs off.”

“you’ll be free from him. especially if you report him and it goes over well.” art said. “but you stood your ground that whole time?”

you sniffed as you tossed the bloody tissue away, “yeah. i didn’t cartwheel though, not enough space.”

art laughed just a little and so did you. “i’m sorry i didn’t either. probably would have hurt less.” he flexed his hand, wincing in pain. “can’t believe i punched a guy.”!

“me neither,” you giggled. “i think you broke his nose.”

“i hope so.” he returned. “would be a good first try.”

“would be good. he was already ugly anyway- now maybe he can get some reconstructive surgery.” you giggled. he was glad to see you laughing about it. “art, this is going to sting a bit.” you said, his hand in your own. art nodded, braced, and you put a few drops of some solution on his hand, watching it fizz up. he hissed just a little, and you tightened your grip on his hand. his lips pressed together.

he sighed, breathing out slowly. “i’m never punching anyone again, jesus christ-“

“good, i hope you don’t have to,” you said, cleaning it again, him wincing in pain again. “i’m sorry-“ you added.

art smiled, “don’t be sorry.”

“then i’m not.” you said, cheeky smile in return. you were so beautiful… silence filled the room for a moment. it was a thick silence, filled with unsaid words.

until art broke it, “you think you’ll continue to fake-date patrick?”

you looked at him through your eyelashes, “i’m done with that. he was angry with patrick, said some shitty things. it didn’t stop him.” you nodded. “plus patrick said it was scaring other girls away.” you laughed. “i’m just glad i don’t have to hold his hand anymore, he’s so… warm.”

art nodded. he adjusted the way he sat, getting the slightest bit closer. “you’re glad it’s over with?”

“for sure,” you said, bandaging his knuckles up, securing it with with pins. “i hate kissing people without meaning, you know?”

“i know.”

“it just… it wasn’t bad but it wasn’t what i wanted from the getgo.”

art’s eyes softened, but his eyebrows furrowed, “you seemed pretty excited about the fake dating. like in the movies. was it anything…” he trailed off as you raised his bandaged hand to your lips and kissed his hand gently. as if kissing it better. you did it like it was the most natural action. art cleared his throat, “wasn’t what you wanted?”

“wasn’t what i wanted. from the start.” you repeated.

“i thought you had plans with patrick tonight, that’s why i said no.” he stated, just so you knew.

he swore he saw you blush, “no- that was just- i didn’t. i just, i don’t knowwww.” art noted how close the two of you were. “i just thought maybe you would.”

“i didn’t know you meant just me,” he chuckled. “if i did, it would have been yes.”

your hands still shook ever so slightly. “it’s good to know. and if i asked again…” you trailed, your cheeks just the slightest bit pink.

he smiled, trying to keep it a smile and not a grin, “i’d say yes.” he swallowed hard, “and if i asked you if i could kiss you right now…”

“i’d say yes,” you replied. “hypothetically- i mean-“ you started giggling as he moved your hair from your face, smile turning into a grin, bandaged hand grazing your cheek just slightly. your eyelashes fluttered gently and your giggle turned into a smile.

“hypothetically?” he beamed, leaning in

“mhm,” you smiled, meeting him halfway. you both smiled into the kiss, but it was slow, sickeningly slow, with no impulsivity and nothing at stake. lips barely grazing each other’s, gently, not fully kissing, not yet. art’s non-bandaged hand slid over your jaw, settling to the place just below your ear before he closed the (very) small gap between.

the kiss stayed slow, art’s lips pressed to yours sweetly, gently, easily. and it filled the void every empty kiss with patrick left in you. his lips were soft, and so were yours, your berry lipbalm the cause. your lips almost melted into his, the way it felt like you were meant to kiss him. your lips fit together in a way where they never really had with patrick. or anyone, ever.

mouthes open, just slightly, taking in as much as possible in a kiss while still moving with only patience. the breaths in between filled with the feeling of you smiling against his lips. his heart pounded in his chest, about as hard as it did when the adrenaline kicked in earlier. but it was just you. only you.

and the kiss was slowly undoing the ache he’d felt for two months. his chest was full, heart pumping, feeling warm. and actually happy. really happy. there was no pain to be felt, not in his hand, not in any manner. your hand on the back of his head, fingers slowly moving through his hair, sliding over his jaw. it was only a few minutes, both of you not wanting to stop, not for anything, but there was a knock on the door. and you both pulled away, both a little dazed. art’s cheeks and nose were visibly pink and he for sure was wearing your lip balm at that point.

“it’s probably patrick,” art said. “he’s got… weed.”

“he’s got weed?” you smiled, standing up over him. “think he’ll knock again?”

“probably,” art replied, reaching up and pulling you back down into a kiss, your body between his legs on the edge of the bed. another kiss, just a little faster this time, your hands cupping his face gently. interrupted once more after twenty seconds by patrick knocking. you pulled away with the prettiest grin and went to answer the door.

patrick came in with a knowing look that he shot art before questioning art’s bandaged hand. the story unravelled over a joint and a good amount of laughter and for once art was able to enjoy his friend’s company without those nagging thoughts and feelings. you might have been patrick’s with the facade, but this was real. art’s hand rested on your thigh and before the night truly ended, the proper plans were made. not only to report your jackass of an ex, but to get dinner after.

#challengers #art donaldson #art donaldson angst #art donaldson fluff #art donaldson oneshot #art donaldson fic #art donaldson x reader #tinytennisskirt #bestfriend! art

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