Summary: A Shy!Art meets Popular!fem!reader in class; it's safe to say neither are what the other expected.
Author's Note: Part one, the title will make more sense soon hopefully, I just love Meg. Also, I wrote this entirely in a british accent, can you tell?
Warnings: Just fluff for now! Mentions of Douchey!Patrick and Bestie!Tashi. Art is the cutest!!
Class. One easily recognizable feature of you.
Being the Dean’s daughter at Stanford, it’s not like you had much choice, quite the image for you to uphold. But you didn’t actually mind, why would you? While the dictionary definition of class was: excellent in a stylish or impressive way, your personal one had a lot more fun to it. Dressing in elite brands, behaving well as an important woman should, and having the whole student body at your finger tips.
What a life!
You constantly had boys and girls staring at you, pining for your attention. You would lightly entertain some of them, seeing how flustered they get at a simple smile or comment always boosted your ego. Very few would actually attempt something with you since you were such a class act, but when they did—fucking hell.
It was genuinely hard for you to understand the gall of some people. Sure, you had a big ego, but at least your pretty face and good standing could back you up for it. Some would approach you with crude comments—played off as jokes—and expect a positive reaction! Others would seem as if they were obsessed with you and had some sort of creepy fetish! Overall, many were lucky you weren’t so quick to phone the Dean on them; you didn't want to cause too much drama after all.
This idiotic behavior honestly had you preferring the ones who were too shy to even speak to you. As least that could be interpreted as respectfulness.
But you also had to admit, it had you so bored! It wasn’t like classy ladies could just hook up with any cute student they come across, your father, the dean, would be so disappointed if you did too. And sure, you had had your fair share of lovers, some who were really great too. However, you’re beginning your third year now, and it’s like it’s all gone stagnant.
Your most previous boyfriend broke up with you over the summer, over something idiotic too: 'You're just too good for me, I've realized. You deserve someone at your level who can give you all the attention you require.' Which is really bullshit for, 'I'm too lazy and can find easier pussy elsewhere, you'll be fine without me.'
You had plenty of time in the remainder of break to reelevate yourself to your true form. Unfortunately though, the months rushed by in a whirlwind of beaches, festivals, and partying—but all without a new boy toy!
Nevertheless, you’re still convinced you’ll have the perfect first day and are destined for success. It’s literally in your blood after all.
You walk into your first class of the day, an economic centered business course, and immediately the energy in the rooms shifts. Some conversations quiet and you feel all sorts of eyes on you as you find the perfect seat, the direct middle. Perfect to answer questions, allows people to see you, and a comfortable distance from the door and the desk.
As students continue filing in, you pull out your textbook and highlighters, not bothering to pay any attention to whispers or sidelong glances. You’re practically in your own little world until someone beside you clears their throat.
You glance up to witness a sort of meek looking blonde, fidgeting with the strap of his backpack as he asks you: “Okay if I sit here?”
You slightly smile with a nod, “I don’t patrol the seating.” You turn back to your supplies, getting a sip from your water bottle as he sits down. You don’t notice as he chews his bottom lip getting ready beside you, but you can still feel his nervous energy.
“Um,” he clears his throat, “I’m Art.” For some reason he holds his hand out, you look at it for a second before shaking it, chuckling quietly to yourself.
“So formal,” His hand is surprisingly soft and his touch gentle, not the most professional hand shake you’ve experienced, “And I know who you are.”
Art Donaldson, up and coming tennis athlete. Back in high school he was the winner of the Boys’ Junior Doubles title at the U.S. open in 2006 with his partner Patrick Zweig and has been a leading player on the Stanford team. He’s likely to become a major tennis star in the States, if not having a name internationally too. His talent on the court is matched by his exceptional academic work, he is however no match for you.
His cheeks seems to have tinted red at that, “Really? I mean I know who you are too, obviously, but—“
“I know. Don’t worry about it, I know everybody.” He looks like he’s about to speak again when the professor starts introducing the course and beginning to go over the syllabus.
You don’t talk to him for the rest of class, you’re too good a student to disrespect a faculty member in such a way, but his energy earlier was rather appealing. You hadn’t expected such behavior from an excellent and well known tennis player, he had honestly deserved to be a little cocky what with his record and skill.
After already getting assigned a reading at the concluding of class, you begin to pack your things. You can feel his eyes on you as you’re about to stand up, so you turn to him. “Did you have something else to say, or are you too shy?”
He began to shake his head, ears blooming with red, “No, I just…” He clears his throat again, holding out his hand once more, “Nice meeting you.”
You can’t help but scoffing out a laugh, offering him a firmer handshake this time, “See you around, Art Donaldson.”
Taking a breath as you exit the classroom, you try to calm yourself. He is certainly an interesting prospect, but this is not to be confused with excitement. Only day one after all.
The rest of your classes that day are smooth sailing, because why wouldn’t they be? You only have a couple of easy assignments to complete in the upcoming days, so you're not worried about it. Ready for a break, you decide to meet your best friend at a chic campus coffee shop. Upon seeing one another, you meet in a tight hug with a quiet squeal, "Tash!"
Tashi Duncan, rivaling most modern tennis players in greatness, winner of the Junior Girls' Single in the U.S. Open back in high school of 2006. Additionally, your best friend and generally kind person. You've been bonded since freshman year at Stanford when dealing with weird boys vying for your attention.
You sit opposite each other at a small round table, you ordering a mocha frappuccino and Tashi asking for a hot black coffee. She's adorning her usual athletic wear, adidas jacket from her ever-present endorsement with them.
"So, tell me, how's your first day been?" You place your hands on the table, brushing hers.
She smiles at you, "Fucking weird. I share two classes with Anna fucking Mueller, and she won't stop giving me dirty looks."
You snort, "'Cause she's a jealous bitch."
"Don't I know it," She takes a sip of her drink upon its arrival, "Yours has been better?"
"You know what?" You lean forward, cheeky grin on your face, "It has. This shy little tennis guy was so flustered around me earlier—typical, I know—but he was genuinely cute. Seemed nice enough too."
Tashi had a smirk lining her lips from the moment you started speaking, "And what do you plan to do about it?"
You give her a knowing look before the two of you are thrown into a fit of giggles.
⁂
You don't intend on seeing him the next day, but just in case you do, you wear an outfit that exposes just a bit more of your chest and emphasizes the length of your legs. All apart of your 'make him come to you' policy. You only have one class that morning, so once it is finished, the world, or rather Stanford’s campus, is your oyster.
You arrive to a small campus restauraunt for lunch, ordering your usual Asian chicken crunch wrap with an herbal tea. When you find a seat at a cozy corner table, you notice him across the way. Art Donaldson with Patrick Zweig.
Patrick Zweig, incredible tennis player who back in high school he was the winner of the Boys’ Junior Doubles title at the U.S. open in 2006 with his partner Art Donaldson and has been yet another leading player on the Stanford team. His lazy attitude and lack of sportsmanship may compromise future success, especially being tied along with him being academically weak and a horrible student.
Patrick nudged his friend as they looked at you across the way. Ignoring them, you start to dig into your meal, thoroughly but politely enjoying it until the pair appears in front of you a few moments later. Patrick takes a seat and Art just hovers.
You wipe your mouth, looking upwards at them, "Can I help you?"
"Oh, we didn't mean to interrupt," Art began until Patrick spoke in.
"My friend here was telling me about how cute you looked in your little business class the other day, told him I'd help him out." His arm was stretched across an empty chair and he was already manspreading.
You tried not to scoff too loudly, "Well your friend," you briefly glanced his way, "Is better off doing something about it himself than this sorry attempt of wingmanning."
Art pinches the bridge of his nose, "Patrick, I told you this was a bad idea, c'mon."
"It's not that it was a bad idea," you turn fully to him, "Just terrible execution. Try again some other time without any help," You look pointedly at Patrick—gosh, the brash, "And see how things play out."
He looks at you, light blue eyes slightly wide as he does a subtle lick of his lips, nodding just a little.
You pick up your things, and just as you pass Art, you speak quietly to where only he can hear, resting your hand on his shoulder, "And you're sort of cute too."
You don't see his reaction, but inside the establishment, Art gushes to Patrick about you, calling out his overtness to only be met with more teasing and crude comments.
Upon leaving and pulling out your phone, you shoot a text to Tashi:
In the palm of my hand.
⁂
That next day, you return to the same economics in business class, and Art arrives just slightly after you. He looks cute in his red athletic shirt and ball cap. You don’t tell him this though, just focus instead on getting ready for class.
You can feel his eyes on you though. He clears his throat before speaking up, “So, what are you studying business for?”
His words surprise you, don’t seem shallow as he focuses on your brain rather than your body. You begin to grin at him, “I’m actually minoring in business and majoring in fashion design. Hopefully lead me to my own fashion brand one day—that’s the dream at least.”
You take a sip from your water as he nods, looking up at him over your straw. “And you? Why business?”
“Well,” you notice as his hands toy with a blue mechanical pencil just under the desk, “In case professional tennis doesn’t work out, I figure I can work at a sports company of some sort. I kinda enjoy the marketing side of things too.” He shrugs, eyes never once leaving yours.
“Smart.” You give him a brief once over, noting how his eyebrows were always slightly raised around you and his lips just a little too wet. You can’t help a small smile before focusing your attention to the front of the classroom.
“Try my best.”
⁂
Now while it was in your best interest to not be seen as fast or easy, he made it increasingly difficult as time went on.
Once while discussing a homework at the beginning of class, he somehow managed to look at you in such a way like you were the only girl in the world.
And fuck you wanted to shut him up with your lips. Who does he think he is making you feel this way? It made you roll your eyes and look away. Fuck him!
But when you looked away, you could feel him shift. You didn’t see the way his eyes tried to study your face before looking downcast, didn’t hear his internal thoughts pushing him to overthink, but you knew how pathetic, or perhaps sweet, he was being.
You turn back to him, hands clasped on the desk. “So, when are you going to take my advice? I’m not a lady to be kept waiting.”
Art swallows, scanning your face, “Of course you’re not, I just didn’t know how to...” he seemed to search for the words, “Impress you enough.”
“Asking me out doesn’t need to be flashy. I care about substance too, you know. Not that shallow.”
He shakes his head immediately, sitting taller, “No, no, I didn’t mean it like that—“
You place your hand atop his forearm, “I’m only teasing.” He glances down at it. “But seriously Art,” Your eyes go to his Nike athletic tee, “Just do it.”
Two mornings from then, Art got to class before you. Upon arriving to your seat, you noticed a small but pretty bouquet of flowers sitting at the table. He smiled at you softly, “Would you like to go on a date with me?”
⁂
It had been ages since you felt this excited over a man. You weren’t entirely sure why either. There was just something so refreshing about him, so different and caring. You held all the power but not because you had to fight for it, he simply allowed you all the room to take up space, and relished in it.
He had clearly heeded your words too. The first date was a simple, but classic, one. He had taken you to dinner at a nice Italian restaurant near campus. The drive there in his slightly beaten down, but clearly recently cleaned BMW wasn’t talkative, but was comfortable. He let you pick from one of his CDs and you chose an upbeat Jackson 5 one.
Art hopped out of the car, quickly opening the door for you before you could reach the handle. You chuckled at his gentlemanly gesture, whispering a polite thank you as you were led inside to his reserved table. “I love this place Art, how’d you know?” You grinned upon taking your seat.
He smiled, foot bouncing beneath the table. “Well you’re a woman of refined taste,” He cleared his throat, “And you know, I may have taken a gander at your MySpace before.”
You chuckled, licking your lips, “Good to know. Might have to update it more often now.”
The waiter quickly took your order, the two of you deciding to split a large shrimp alfredo pasta. As you dug into the garlic bread while your main dish was being prepared, the conversation flowed naturally. Art told you all about tennis and how it’s been his dream to make it big since he was put into Mark Reballato Tennis Academy. Apparently that’s where Patrick and him first met, and they had been best friends ever since.
You shared about your love of fashion design. About the creative and daring articles you wanted to create once you were an adult out on your own, with no one’s pressuring opinions to water your ideas down. Even how you would be Tashi’s stylist once she made it big too. He asked if you would style him too and after over analyzing his outift, you quickly agreed. He was mock offended and you just laughed cheerily.
Art was surprisingly funny as well, making you almost choke on a piece of shrimp. Despite it being very unladylike and hardly mannersome, you couldn’t find it in you to care. Once Art made sure you weren’t going to die, laughter over took the both of you and it felt incredibly freeing.
Once the evening had concluded, you didn’t want it to end. And obviously, neither did he. “Hey, uh,” he scratched the back of his neck, “The old drive in is showing Grease tonight. Pat and I were gonna go, but he got busy.” He shrugged nervously. “Just a thought if you maybe wanted to join me?”
You reached your hand out, interlacing your fingers, “Can’t let those good tickets go to waste, now can we?”
⁂
As he opened his trunk for you to sit in, laying down a soft blanket to make it more cozy, your fingers toyed with your skirt. “Not really drive in attire,” you chuckled.
He quickly reached into the backseat, “I have some extra clothes in my tennis bag, freshly washed.” He smiled, holding it out to you. You thanked him before taking it to the restroom in the middle of the large field. As you saw yourself in the mirror in his Stanford hoodie and sweats, you were unable to stop the smile coming over your face.
Upon arriving back to his car, you spun for him, "Do I look chic?"
He grinned, his nose cutely wrinkling up like a sweet mouse, "Like straight out of a fashion catalog."
He sets his bag back in the backseat and you're pleasantly surprised to see the trunk with a surplus of blankets along with a popcorn and large soda. "This is so cute, Art, thank you." You sat down, waiting for him to slide in next to you.
"I hope you like popcorn and pepsi, they didn't have many options."
"It's perfect."
As the movie started on the warm, almost summer feeling night, the two of you naturally drifted closer to each other. Unlike the drive in scene in the movie, Art asked very politely before touching you at all. He turned to you, whispering very softly, "Is it okay if I put my arm around you?"
You smiled sheepishly, something you didn't do often, before replying, "More than okay."
As his arm found your shoulders, you slightly snuggled into his touch. Despite the hard seat of the trunk, the mess of the greasy popcorn and sticky pepsi, and the pesky bugs every now and again, it was the most comfort you felt in a long time.
As the movie came to a close, you had easily fallen asleep in his arms. The credits rolled and he looked down at you, seeing how gentle and beautiful you were all cuddled against him. He whispered your name softly, “The movie’s over. We uh, we gotta get outta here.”
You seemed to just scoot closer to him, completely oblivious to his words. He chuckled softly, rubbing your shoulder. “Yeah, that’s okay too.”
As other cars started to pack up and drive away, he found himself not wanting to leave your side. Nonetheless, a sigh left his lips as he lifted some of the blankets, still leaving one around you as he lifted you bridal style, carrying you to the passenger’s seat. As slowly as he could, he reclined it, making sure you could adjust to get comfortable.
He quickly closed the trunk and returned to the driver’s seat, starting the engine. “Uh…” He tapped your shoulder gently, “Hey, um, what dorm are you in?”
You just said something frustratedly, mumbled by a blanket around you.
“One more time, for me?”
“Yours..” You slunk into the seat further, “Your dorm.”
Art smiled to himself as his cheeks started to heat up. He shot Patrick a text before pulling away.
Calling in the favor, dorm’s mine tonight :)
Enough said (;
⁂
After slowly carrying you up to his dorm, Art gently laid you in his bed that he had luckily made this morning before going out. He tucked you into his comforter gently, trying not to disturb you awake.
Upon seeing condoms on his nightstand with a little note from Patrick reading: Lucky you! Let me know how it is! He quickly shoved it all into his drawer, not wanting you to think he had the wrong idea with all of this.
He took his time getting fully ready for bed, changing from his sweater and jeans into a t-shirt and pajama pants with little tennis rackets and balls on them. After brushing his teeth and washing his face, along with a surprisingly long skin care routine, he got under the covers of Patrick’s bed, not wanting to treat you with any disrespect at all.
He looked over to see you all calm in his sheets, slowly breathing, almost a light snore, as you slept peacefully. A whisper leaves his mouth, “Goodnight beautiful.”
A few hours later though, you wake up with bleary eyes. Reaching up to them, you feel smudged mascara as sleep escapes you. You groan softly, turning to see Art sleeping in a bed nearby. His dorm. It was hard to make him out at all in the dark room, so you whispered out his name, “Art? Are you awake?”
You don’t hear a response, so you softly pad over to him. On your way, you see how neatly he set your shoes and old clothes aside. Gosh, he was the sweetest. You pushed back part of the covers, gently nudging his upper arm, “Can I lay here with you? It’s cold over there.”
Art rubs some sleep from his eyes, squinting as his eyebrows furrow. When he comes to the realization of it being you, he smiles tiredly. “Let’s not sleep in my roommate’s bed..”
“Oh,” you chuckle, “Definitely not, yeah.”
Art joins you at his bed. For a moment you both look at each other awkwardly, neither one making the first move.
“I should just—“
“No yeah, you really can—“
Speaking at the same time, a light laughter overtakes you. Art sticks his hand out in a cute little gesture, “After you, m’lady.”
You gently curtsy before lying down, “Thank you, my liege.” You nod towards him.
He lays down beside you, leaving far too large a distance between the two of you. “The princess isn’t a prude, you know.” You grin and his eyes dance over your face.
Finally, he nods hesitantly, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, “If it makes your royal highness happy.”
“Perfectly happy princess indeed.” You mutter into his chest, already wrapping an arm around his waist, sighing into his warmth.
A beat.
“Goodnight princess.”
“Goodnight prince.”
⁂
The next morning you slip away as the sunrises. While leaving Art’s arms is certainly disappointing, it all began to feel like a lot a little too fast. Had your father found out you just spent the night with a boy after one date, you could consider yourself as well as expelled.
You don’t leave a note, don’t text him first, but you do add a post to your MySpace profile. A few pictures with Art sneakily making appearances, along with the caption: There are worse things I could do…
Soon after posting you got the notification of him liking and commenting: Tell me more, tell me more!
i couldnt find my coloured pencils and i dont do marker in my sketchbooks so i used thread, it was a little tedious because i'm the worlds most stubborn person and didnt want to walk 10 feet and grab tweezers but it was really fun actually! something sonething limitations breed creativity, blah blah blah
i also had to project my own issues onto my favorite character of course so we got the little "I" in the they because i have been having trouble feeling emotions lately #normalissuestrust
ive also been having pretty bad art block so this was nice! it was easy it didnt feel like a chore for the first time in a while even though i had trouble with the pose :)
I CRAVE CITY. I CRAVE WALKING TO A PLACE IN 5 MINUTES AND THEN WALKING TO ANOTHER PLACE IN FIVE MINUTES. I don't even need big buildings i just need to WALK and I need there to be BUSES and I need there to be TRAINS and I need there to be SUBWAYS and I need there to be PEOPLE. my dream...
I feel so bad for every under 16 person in Australian right know. Mostly the teens and preteens. There are like NO teen spaces anymore. What are teenagers supposed to in the winter?
It's bad for marginalized groups like the LGBTQ. I personally know that the internet gave me my trans awakening. I wouldn't of known for years if not that. People, a portion of which are autistic, also like niche or wierd things that really only have online communities. Real life can be so incredibly isolating. The internet allowed weirdos to come together and have friends and nerd out.
If someone can drive a car, get a piercing, and have a job, they should be able to have YouTube and Snapchat. There are issues with both of these platforms. But you know what would help with that? Putting pressure and forcing the companies to change.
Finally, people will find ways around this. Just like everyone does to play games on their computers in class. Kids and teens are smarter than adults give them credit for, in my opinion.
I do think that limiting or blocking some things are good. People in general are too online. But being more online is more of a symptom of the society we live in now. I think part of that started in 2020, but it has existed for a while and simply won't go away just because a government bans/limits social media. Anyways, that's my opinion on this whole thing. Good luck to all Australians under 16.
