#( but i had so much fun writing this )

[hexagonalhavoc]

Forrest Family 

Platonic Leshy + Subordinates 

Reader is always gn unless stated otherwise 

[Author’s Note: I totally forgot I had this blog 😭 basically in this au Leshy and all of his subordinates exist in the real world. Y/n gets two loving families in this and I am considering making several parts of this au because you don’t meet everyone in this oneshot]

[⚠️Small mentions of death but no one actually dies, reader almost drowns but is okay in the end]

     No one could ignore the sound of a crying baby, not even the strange entities that resided within the woods. 

The Trader was the one who found you wedged between a car seat and pieces of dented metal. The car must have fell from the mountain roads. Miraculously, there was not a single scratch on your tiny body. There were two figures in the front row seats but The Trader could hardly see them through the rubble. 

The only thing she can see is the fussy baby strapped in a car seat. The car seat had a name sewed onto the top of the fabric. “Y/n…” She mumbles tentatively.

Assuming that your parents didn’t survive the crash, she scooped you up into her arms and took you to the heart of the forest where the Scrybe of Beasts lived along with his subordinates. The entities in this forest had questionable morals but even they knew that a baby couldn’t be left to die. They couldn’t leave the forest and there were no campsites to drop you off safely so the only option they had was to raise you. 

Not everyone was open to the idea but you ended up winning their hearts quickly. 

What they didn’t know was that your parents were alive, simply knocked out from the harsh collision. They were lucky enough to have cellphone service and were able to call for help. They were fine with injuries that could easily be treated. The worse wounds your parents suffered was when they found out their child wasn’t in the backseat. Your car seat was found unbuckled but you were too young to know how to free yourself and even if you did you wouldn’t be able to go very far with your limited mobility. 

A mystery like this was all over the news as the grieving parents dealt with interviews and interrogations that only rubbed salt in the wound. Despite this tragedy, your parents were able to work through it and stay together. 

Seven years later you were found by an explorer in the woods who found you feeding seeds to the small creatures of the woodlands. Seeing this child alone and away from civilization, they left the woods with you and called the police. That day you were safely returned to your biological family but your forest family had lost you. They knew that this was a good thing and that is why they let you go despite being close enough to see what was happening.

As much as they loved you, you needed to be with people, with your original family. That night the woods was quiet. It was void of any joyful giggles and the little pitter patter of you running around playing games.

When you were found no one expected you to be in such good condition. The clothes on your back kept you warm and your nails were neatly clipped. You even knew how to read, write, speak, and do some simple math. Everyone was grateful that you were safe and sound but everyone was curious as to how a child could be in such good condition despite being in the woods for seven years. 

You couldn’t have gotten this way by yourself meaning that someone took care of you. When you were asked about who you were with in this woods you told people everything. 

You told them about your three uncles: The goofy one who had a cute dog and was always looking for gold, the one who always fished and taught you not to be scared of the water, and the one who frequently set up traps in the forest that would hum melodies that lulled you to sleep. Then you told them about your aunt who had a peculiar hairstyle who loved card games. You even told them about your two older siblings, Luke and Kaycee who resembled two people who went missing in the same forest you spent your years in. 

The last person they heard about was your Forest Father who you described to be a man with animal legs covered in twigs and leaves. He watched over everyone and loved to play games in his cabin.

Despite being unnerved, most people brushed it off as you having an active imagination. These people had to exist but surely they didn’t have the inhuman features you spoke of. The people who raised you were a mystery to everyone but with you found safe the case was closed and you were now going to live a normal life with the family you should have always been with. 

You ended up living in a good home and reconnecting with your parents as well as making friends. Then you grew up into a healthy adult with a job and a small place. 

Yet you still remembered your forest family, that’s why you were here. 

You knew if you told anyone, especially your family they would freak out so this was something you did without telling anyone. You aren’t sure why but lately the mystery behind your forest family happened to be eating away at you. You wondered if they truly looked so strange or if you just didn’t remember things correctly because you were a child. 

You needed answers for yourself and thus you’re in the forest where you spent a chunk of your childhood. Despite it being so long ago, you still knew how to walk these trails. The smell of the dirt and ferns was comforting to you. Even if you didn’t find the people you were looking for it was still nice to be here. The family you remember might not even be in the woods anymore.

Then you spotted something that made you freeze. You took a step back and then crouched down to look at it. It almost looked like a statue of a frog made with metal and screws. You tapped its head and its shape suddenly changed into a bear trap which you made stumble back in alarm. Dirt coated the trap and there wasn’t a single speck of rust which means that this trap has to be new! And if it is that means that your forest family was still here! You remember how your uncle Trapper would make these strange looking frog traps to lure in animals.

With a newfound sense of determination you continued onward. You wondered how your forrest family would react when they saw you again. You hope that they’re as nice as you remember them being. You hope they want to see you. 

It wasn’t very long until you faced another obstacle in your path, a body of water that stretched out across the land. It would take too long to find where the water stops. If you wanted to continue on your best bet would be to cross the water. You looked down into the water but you couldn’t gage how deep it was, the water was too murky. You would just have to take a chance, you were a strong swimmer though so you should be okay if the water is deep. 

You walk to the edge, looking at your own reflection as you tried to hype yourself up. You had gone so far that there was no point in turning back. It was just a little bit of water. 

One foot cautiously dips into the water. It doesn’t seem that deep! With more confidence, your other foot submerges itself in the water and sinks slightly under the mud. You begin to wade in the water, taking things one step at a time. At least the current isn’t very strong. 

You’re halfway across but with your next step, the ground seemingly disappears under you. In an instant, your head is swept beneath the water. You don’t have enough time to take a breath and your limbs flail around as you try to swim but your backpack weights you down. In your panic the only thing you do is thrash around like an animal as the dirty water gets in your nose and eyes. You don’t even consider that your backpack is the one keeping you trapped within the water.

Just when you think it’s hopeless, you feel something tugging you up by your shirt and in a flash you’re back above the water. You let out a few coughs as you rubbed the dirt out of your eyes. When your vision cleared you looked up at the one who had saved you. It was a large man with a fishing rod in his with a comically large fishing hook on it. You look at the man’s green tinted skin and the fins on his head with disbelief. He looked exactly how you remembered. 

“Uncle Angler!” You were the first to break the little staring match you two were having. Despite being cold and tired you stood up and hugged him. “Y/n Fish.” His voice lacked any inflection but you still knew how to read him even after all these years and you knew he was happy to see you too given the way his arms engulfed you. It was a strange hug but he made you feel safe and secure. 

After a few moments both of you take a step back but you’re still looking up at him with a smile. “I’m so glad to see you! Do you know where the others are?” 

“We’re close. I can lead.” He says as he picks up a few buckets of fish to take with him. You go to grab one in order to help you out but he gives you a look. The Angler doesn’t want you carrying such a heavy bucket after going through so much. His pace is slow which makes him easier to keep up with. He’s as big as you remember but also just as gentle. You don’t mind walking back with him in silence. The Angler had always been a man of few words and as a kid you two would sit together and fish in silence which taught you remarkable of patience. 

The walk isn’t too long but you’re still exhausted. It was a long drive to get here, and then a long walk, and then almost becoming a meal for The Angler’s great whites. But it’s all worth it, especially when you see the figure in the clearing. Some would find him scary. He’s a tall figure whose body is adorned with plant life. A deer-like leg kicks at the dirt behind him. He holds an old fashioned camera in his hands. 

As you and The Angler approach he looks over at the direction where he hears the snapping of twigs and dry leaves. Both of you stare each other. His eyes becoming luminous orange spirals as he comprehends what he’s seeing. And in a moment, both of you run at each other. Your backpack is discarded to the ground without another thought and whatever Leshy was going to take a picture of is long forgotten. 

His limbs are lanky but incredibly strong. You feel like a child again being held like this. You rest your head against his shoulder and inhale the familiar scent of greenery that never withered or decayed. 

“You came back.” He whispers those words faintly but you still hear them. You knew that this might be emotional and yet you’re overwhelmed by your feelings in the best way possible. 

“Of course I did.” Your breathing is shaking but you still let out a small laugh. “You’re all my family too and I’ll always want you guys to be apart of my life.” You wipe your nose on your sleeve and sniffle. 

This feels like the greatest thing that could ever happen, to have two families who love and care for you even if it’s in different ways. 

It’s saddening that you can’t allow your biological family to meet your forrest family but you’re happy to have them both. You’re happy to live a boring, technology filled civilian life as well an exciting one in the woods filled with magic and mystery. 

You have the best of both worlds.

[acasualcrossfade]

It’s On the House

Written for @thefreakandthehair Sping Fanworks Challenge 2023, Prompt: Mud

Stranger Things, Steve/Eddie, Steve and Eddie

Words: 4326

Read this on Ao3 and find me at thunderously_halo over there :)

Summary: Steve works at Ungrounded, Hawkins’s new café in town next to the record store. When a person clad in all black bikes up with a guitar on his back, Steve is intrigued. Through many closing shifts, Steve learns more about the person, Eddie, and eventually helps Eddie after he gets caught in the rain.

--

“Large iced coffee and a chocolate chip loaf, warmed for Megan!” Steve called, holding up the bagged dessert as he slid the freshly made coffee forward. He turned back to the machine to foam milk for the cappuccino. He stepped to the side to let his boss, Keith, place a cup on the pick-up counter.

“Tuesday Special for Hannah!” Keith called.

As much as Steve hated closing shifts, he hated the company-mandated uniform a bit more. The uniform was no more than a tan-colored shirt and jeans, but the shirt was his least favorite. It had the words “Get Ungrounded” written in groovy letters on the front, and had a giant printed coffee bean on the back.

“I’m gunna go on break,” Keith said, scooting past Steve.

Steve sighed, already knowing that was code for I’m leaving, close up on your own . He was used to it by now, and as the last of the evening rush dwindled, Steve felt the familiar peace that came with the closing shift. A few of his evening regulars were already seated at their usual tables; the booths on the side were left empty except for one study group that sometimes came in around finals season.

The quiet of the café was his favorite. As the sun started to set, the streetlights glowed brighter against the dimming sky.

Traffic thinned and bikers were scarce.

Which was why when a biker whizzed past the window, Steve’s head snapped up in surprise. He abandoned all thought of cleaning the next table and watched as the figure on the bike, dressed in all black, gracefully dismounted. It wasn’t until the figure turned to lock their bike that Steve made out the hardback guitar case strapped to their back. The two seemed to move together as one, and Steve was sure if he strapped a guitar on his back, he wouldn’t look like that.

Steve finished wiping down the table before glancing up at the biker again. The figure had removed his helmet and was walking towards the coffeeshop. Their long hair flowed along with them, and Steve suddenly panicked.

Was it cooler to meet him at the counter or greet him at the door?

Why was he suddenly worried about that?

He was saved from having to figure it out as the man headed into the record shop next door.

A rush of relief seeped through Steve, and he went back to cleaning tables.

--

Steve was in the middle of bussing tables when the door opened and a customer walked in. He grabbed the last of the dirty mugs before heading towards the counter.

“One minute,” he called, before setting them all in the sink behind the register. And when Steve looked up, he immediately recognized the man standing at the counter.

It was the biker from earlier.

The biker stood patiently at the counter, taking his time to read the menu and glance at the dessert case. The man looked comfortable in his dark gray shirt and denim jacket, and his skinny black jeans were ripped in the knees. The light breeze from the coffee shop's weak AC blew the man’s flyaway curls around his face and made his features look soft and welcoming. The man carried his guitar case, and had set it down to lean against the counter.  

His brown eyes studied the sweets and he rocked back and forth slowly as he contemplated, then turned his interest to the snacks along the side of the counter.

“What can I get for you?” Steve asked politely, doing his best to keep his voice from cracking. It always happened when he was nervous. The man had this gracefulness to him, and Steve automatically felt pulled in by it. His apron suddenly felt crooked and he fought the urge to straighten it.

The man’s gaze traveled from the snacks to the small card of specials next to the register. His brow furrowed as a soft smile played on his quirked lips. “What’s the Tuesday Special?”

“It’s a java chip Frappuccino with strawberry and peppermint drizzle,” Steve explained. “And you can get it with or without whipped cream. It’s pretty popular.”

The man nodded approvingly and spent a moment debating before finally shaking his head. “Another day. But can I grab a chamomile tea instead? Large?”  

Steve typed in the order and then looked up again. “And what’s the name for the order?”

The man shifted to the other leg. “Oh, Eddie is good. E-D-D-I-E, though,” he said, standing on his tip-toes to peek over as Steve wrote on the cup. “Not E-D-D-Y.”

“Gotcha.” Steve wrote it on the cup. Eddie. The name fit him.

“And can you do me a favor?” Eddie asked, his voice going quieter. “Or, well, can I make an order in advance?”

Steve glanced around at the quiet coffee shop before nodding. The evening rush had died down, leaving the coffee shop in a quiet ambience. The evening regulars sipped their coffees and there were a few study groups gathered at some of the tables.

“Yeah, sure. I can also bring it to your table since it’s not too busy,” Steve mentioned.

“That’d be great.  I’m waiting for someone and I want to order for them.” Eddie thought for a moment. “It’ll be a medium hot chocolate with whipped cream with a bit of cinnamon sprinkled over it? And can you bring it in like, 20 minutes or so?”

Steve added a note about the hot chocolate before putting in the order. “So it’s one hot chocolate with whipped cream and a bit of cinnamon,” Steve repeated as Eddie nodded along. “Okay Eddie, I’ll have that ready for you in a bit.” Steve took a handful of crumpled bills from Eddie and handed him his change.  

When Steve handed him his tea, Eddie smiled once more before heading back towards the windows, taking a seat at one of the booths in the far corner.

A few more people trickled in, and Steve watched as a young kid headed to Eddie’s booth. In one hand, the kid held his windbreaker and in the other, a briefcase.

Steve hid his smile as he watched Eddie jump up to greet the kid, pulling him in for a tight hug. He placed a hand on the kid’s shoulder as he spoke to him and Steve watched the young boy nod a few times before hugging Eddie again.

They must know each other pretty well.

It wasn’t until the boy sat down and opened the briefcase that Steve realized it was a case of colored pencils.

The boy fished a few figurines from his jacket pocket and Steve watched as the two started exchanging pencils and erasers. Steve was sidetracked from his watch as a few more students came in for a light night caffeine fix. By the time he glanced back at Eddie and the boy, they were both sketching quietly.

Moving easily through his evening duties, Steve carefully rinsed the dirty mugs and closed up the sticky syrups. He snuck glances at Eddie’s booth more than he should, and each time he saw them, both were in deep concentration.

They pair worked in quiet tandem; the boy shaded something furiously as Eddie sketched quietly. They’d each turn the figurine every now and again to capture it in different stances. And Steve found that Eddie looked most comfortable with one leg hugging his chest, and his other stretched in front of him. There was a quiet, unspoken bond between the two; more than once, Steve caught sight of the boy holding up his drawing and Eddie giving him a high-five and a wide smile.

Work was busy enough to keep Steve at the counter, even though he burned with curiosity to see what they were drawing. Between drawings, they sipped their drinks and at one point, both of them dissolved into giggles at the kid’s whipped cream mustache.

Steve caught the boy’s name as they laughed. Will.

Steve’s finished stacking the clean mugs as laughs burst from the back table. Eddie and Will are giggling over one of Will’s drawings, both talking about something called a Thessalhydra.

Steve made a mental note to look up what a Thessalhydra was.

--

Steve just finished collecting the dirty mugs from the Tuesday evening rush when he caught Eddie walking through the door. Instinctively, he straightened his apron and headed to the counter.

“Hi, what can I get you?” Steve was glad his voice stayed even.

“I’m thinking I want something sweet. Is there anything you’d recommend…” Eddie paused and leaned closer over the counter to peer at the nametag clipped to Steve’s apron. “Anything you’d recommend, Steve?”  Eddie rocked back and forth as he studied the dessert case.

Steve’s ears warmed at the way Eddie said his name. Somehow, Eddie made it sound more melodious than five letters.

“Well,” Steve started. “That chocolate chip loaf is pretty popular, and we’ve got some good donuts, too.” Steve searched the bottom of the case, but shook his head. “Our iced raspberry lemon loaf is good, too, but it looks like we’re sold out.”

Eddie tapped his chin before pointing to the loaf at the top. “I’ll give the chocolate chip loaf a try,” he requested. “And also small mocha.”

Steve smiled. “Good choice.” He took Eddie’s crumpled bills and brought out the man’s order.

“Do you want your loaf warmed?”

Eddie’s face opened into surprise and playfully grasped his chest, pretending to swoon. “I think you just became my hero,” he sighed dramatically before smiling. “I am truly both thankful and amazed such a thing exists.”

Steve waited for Eddie to add an order of hot chocolate like last week, but instead, Eddie handed over a crumpled bill.

“I’ll have that right out for you, Eddie,” Steve said with a nod, and Eddie headed back to his usual table. Instead of colored pencils, Eddie set a worn notebook and pen on the table. Steve could tell that from the way the cover bent upwards, it had been folded and bent backwards multiple times. Eddie settled into his usual perch and started writing.

When Steve brought his mocha and warmed chocolate loaf, Eddie smiled at him with the pen cap wedged between his teeth and Steve felt something warm inside him at the sight.

Steve wondered what he was writing. Could it be songs? Or poetry? He couldn’t dwell on it for long as another few late night students sauntered in. Steve stole a last glance at Eddie, and found he was crossing something out on the page. Steve caught Eddie’s slight frown before turning back to his own evening duties.

Steve glanced up at Eddie once more and found that he’d started gathering his things. As a pair of headlights swung into the parking lot outside, Eddie rushed as he shoved the notebook under his arm and grabbed his guitar. He was almost to the door when he turned to Steve at the counter. “Thanks again for the dessert rec,” Eddie called, and lifted one hand to wave to Steve.

Steve’s ears went warm as he nodded and smiled, raising one hand to wave back.

--

Over the next few weeks, Steve picked up on Eddie’s schedule. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, he biked in to teach guitar lessons (Steve saw him chatting with the kid and their parents outside one Tuesday). And Steve learned that Eddie had a specific drink depending on what he was doing there; art with Will meant a large chamomile tea and anything that dealt with the black notebook meant anything caffeinated paired with something sweet. Steve discovered that Eddie loved anything sweet, and it only took two weeks for him to nail down a favorite pastry. His usual was now the warmed chocolate chip loaf.

Steve found that he enjoyed picking up these small details about Eddie. Each one felt like collecting a piece of something special. And catching him writing, or better yet, pondering what he could be writing. The entire sight pushed Steve’s heart into overdrive.

Steve spent any free time of his shifts sneaking glances at Eddie as he sketched or wrote.

Was it creepy?  

Steve was no stranger to having evening regulars; he knew that Mr. Westler was recently divorced and Candice and her young son Grant were going to the movies on Friday.

Eddie as a coffee shop regular felt different. No other regular made Steve excited to come in for his closing shifts. And he found that he even hated the uniform a little less.

After a month of observations and a goodbye wave at each shift, Steve begrudgingly accepted that seeing Eddie and serving Eddie was something he looked forward to.

--

It rained hard the next Tuesday shift and Steve looked outside as thunder rolled across the sky. The darkened sky made the overhead lights in the coffee shop glow a warmer yellow.  The water on the window caught the headlights and lighted storefronts from outside, making the windows look like a watercolor painting.

Steve appreciated rainy days. The evening rush wasn’t as busy since people wanted to stay out of the rain, but, there was always a possibility of a rush for people to escape the rain. There’d been a slight rush in the afternoon, and Steve realized as time went on that Eddie most likely had stayed home. A bike whizzed past as Steve handed out a small Americano to a student. He watched curiously as the back wheel flicked up water, causing it to patter against the window. Steve’s brow furrowed.

Biking? In the rain?  

The figure hurried in and it’s clear that they weren’t just wet from the rain. They’re soaked .

Water ran off the sides of the jacket sleeves and some of the patrons stared offensively at the dripping sight. It’s not until the man swiped back a handful of plastered curls when Steve blinked in shock.

“Eddie?” Steve’s heart stuttered, trying not to focus on how wide and innocent Eddie’s eyes looked as he slogged towards the counter. Questions bounced around Steve’s mind, but he cleared his throat and grabbed a few clean rags from under the counter.

It’s the closest thing to something dry that Steve can think of.

“They’re clean,” Steve explained. “And we’ve got some more in the back.”

Eddie immediately pressed the towel to his face and shrugged out of his guitar to lean it against the counter. The water droplets pearled against the hard casing of his guitar case and dark flecks decorated Eddie’s shirt and jacket.

“What….What happened?” Steve asked slowly. He suddenly wished the coffeeshop had bigger towels.

“Caught in the downpour,” Eddie replied quickly as he toweled off his neck and chin. “I never saw it coming,” he sputtered sadly. Eddie shook slightly and Steve realized the flecks on Eddie’s shirt weren’t the design, but were flecks of mud and sediment. Water is caught in his hair like crystals, and they shine down his curls and pearl at his ends. Some of the heavier drops  splash to the floor.

“My uncle would have driven, but he’s already at work.” His face disappeared into the towel again before moved on to his jacket sleeves. “And I didn’t want to cancel the lesson.” He shivered, swiping the towel down the front of his shirt. His hair hung in soaked strands. “But I did not plan to be soaking wet like this. Fuck, it’s cold.”

It isn’t until Eddie starts patting the back of his jacket when he abruptly stopped. He twisted to look at the back, and then turned again, trying to see it better.

Steve suddenly envisioned a kitten chasing its tail.

Eddie cursed quietly. “The mud got sprayed up my jacket,” he moaned. He held up the handful of soggy towels. “Can I get these dirty? Is that okay?” He rotated around  again, trying to get a better look at his back. “Actually, do you mind telling me how bad this is?”

Steve tried to keep his composure, but he was sure that his ears were fire-engine red. “I, uh, it’s not…” Steve thought of skirting around the question, but then he saw that Eddie’s back was splattered with mud. He winced out of sympathy. “It’s pretty dirty,” he finally settled.  

Eddie groaned and studied his jacket. “Do you mind getting some more towels? I think I’ll need a few more.”

There aren’t any more towels under the counter, but Steve grabbed the few stacked next to the sink. “Here, try these.”

Eddie took them and dabbed at his soaked sleeves. “Guess this is coming off, too,” he sighed. The wet denim fought him and he yanked it to free his arm. When he turned to look at the back of his shirt, Steve caught a glimpse of Eddie’s quarter sleeve tattoo. An outline of a wing peeking under his left sleeve.

The weak breeze of the AC did nothing to help Eddie as he shivered in his black short sleeve shirt, and Steve suddenly wished he could wrap him in something warm and dry.

Steve paused, checking the coffee shop. There were only a few people that sat around, and all of them looked served. Steve lowered his voice. “We actually have extra uniforms in the back,” he offered. “It’s not the most stylish…” He glanced down at his own tan monstrosity. “But they’re dry.”

“Are you sure it’s okay? I-I,” Eddie started before shivering. “I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

“Keith is gone for the day,” Steve explained. “Besides, he can’t do much more than tell me off a bit.” He shrugged. “We gotta get you outta those wet clothes, come on.” He lifted the counter and it opened like a drawbridge and Eddie stepped carefully behind the counter.

“It’s kinda…fun to be back here,” Eddie mused as he took in the view from the café. “I feel like the king of the café.” He twisted to look at Steve as cleared away the few carts in front of the storage door. “Is this how you feel every day?”

Steve couldn’t help but smile at the thought of Eddie, soaking wet but serving coffee to other evening regulars. “Not exactly, but now that you mention it, Café King does have a nice ring to it.”

Eddie’s squeaky converse followed Steve’s sneakers into the storage room. Steve had only been back there a handful of times, but he didn’t remember it being such close quarters. Eddie felt attached to his back, but Steve found his presence surprisingly warm, despite the man’s shivers. He searched the shelves, certain there were extra shirts somewhere.

“Oo, it’s a little creepy back here,” Eddie whispered. “Looks almost haunted. Have you seen ghosts back here or like, felt cold spots?” He peered at Steve through one of the shelves. “Or have you seen anything out of the ordinary? Something you can’t explain?” Another smirk played at Eddie’s lips.

Steve gave him an intrigued look. “There was that one time I tripped over a sack of beans that were back here.”

“A bag of beans?” Eddi repeated.

“Yep, it was on a cart but I didn’t see either.” Steve nodded towards the wall. “So I redid some of the lighting.”

Eddie’s brow furrowed. “You...what?”

“Here, flip that switch on the wall?”

Eddie kept his brow furrowed curiously as he slowly flipped the switch by the doorframe. Instead of the expected harsh lighting of a storage room, the lighting of the storage room was done up in yellow Christmas lights that hung, strung from the ceiling.

“Okay, wait,” Eddie paused, looking around. “This is the coolest storage closet I’ve ever seen!” His hair flicked out cold droplets of water as he turned in a slow circle to take it all in.

“Yeah, I sometimes get migraines so this room is a bit darker than the coffee shop ones,” Steve explained. His cheeks heated in muted humiliation; why was he talking about this?  

“It feels so cozy in here,” Eddie replied. “And if anything, you could keep the lights out if you’re sensitive to low lights, too.”

Steve nodded. “Exactly.” He turned to Eddie to ask how he knew about migraines, and immediately was reminded the man was soaking wet. “You must be freezing.” Steve went back to searching the shelves.

“Will gets them. Migraines,” Eddie explained. He hugged himself as Steve searched the next shelf. “Kid’s a trooper, though. He’s better at catching them early.”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “Sucks that they can start so young, too.” He moved to the next shelf. “Found ‘em!” Steve called, holding up a tan shirt that smelled faintly of stale coffee. “And looks like they left behind some chef’s pants.” Steve held up the black and white checkered pants, holding  back a laugh. “Is small okay for the shirt?”

“This’ll do,” Eddie responded gratefully as he took the shirt. “Thank you so much, Steve. I also did not expect to be doing any of this.”

Steve felt another strong urge to wrap Eddie up and watch him sip warm chocolate. He pushed away the thought. “You can change back here, and if you want, there’s some hangers and such back here if you want to hang up your clothes.”

Eddie looked down at the clothes he held. “That’s so great, thank you. And I can get my clothes back when I return them.”

Steve nodded. “Sounds like an even trade.”

Steve nodded once more before turning out of the room to let the man change. He couldn't help himself as he took one more glance at Eddie, dripping wet under the soft lights.

Eddie emerged from the storage room looking considerably drier. There was more color in his cheeks and he wasn’t shivering.

“You look better,” Steve smiled.

Eddie’s lean frame swam in the shirt, but the tan brought out the chocolate in Eddie’s eyes. Even with the tan shirt paired with the checkered chef’s pants, Eddie looked… cool . His curls were more damp than wet, and some of his usual flyaways did their usual dance in the light breeze of the AC.

Steve blinked. Could this man pull off anything? Or did this mean he liked a man in uniform?

“What, soaking wet isn’t my best look?,” Eddie playfully replied before going serious. “But really, I cannot thank you enough. You’re truly saving my life.” He ducked under the counter and reached for his guitar.

Steve shook his head. “Well, we don’t just let anyone wear the tan,” he laughed.

“It’s an honor, truly,” Eddie laughed. He gave Steve another one of his famous bows. “And are you closing on Thursday?”

“Yeah. “ His ears heated at the thought of Eddie knowing his schedule.  

“Okay, cool, I can bring these back then.”

Steve nodded. “See you then.” Suddenly, he grabbed one of the drink trays. “Here, use this for the way over. It could be a good makeshift umbrella.”

Eddie gave him another grateful look. “You’re a genius, Steve,” he rushed. “Truly.” He grabbed his guitar and held up the drink tray in a wave. “See ya later!”

Steve lifted his own hand up to wave back. “See you!”

It isn't until Steve closed up that he remembered Eddie's clothes in the storage room. He quickly headed back there, and sure enough, the man's jeans and usual denim jacket were laid out on the shelves. Without another thought, Steve grabbed them to take them home to wash.

--

Thursday’s rush is busy enough for Steve to miss Eddie’s graceful dismount, but Steve caught sight of his parked bike as he cleaned up after the evening rush.

Eddie arrived at the café later  with his guitar on his back. “Hey Steve,” he bounced, holding up a paper bag. He took a sneaky look around before placing the bag to the counter. “I’ve got the goods.”

Steve didn’t stand a chance against the smile that broke out on his face. “What are you, a drug dealer?” he joked. He took the bag. “Thanks, though. And besides, Keith left at like, seven thirty. As usual.” He pulled out a bag of Eddie's folded clothes, the ones he took home to wash and dry.

"Steve, you washed these? And folded them?" Eddie gave him a wide-eyed look as he stared into the bag. "You really didn't have to do that."

Steve rubbed his neck nervously. "It's nothing," he replied shyly. "Just a little mud."

Eddie took out his denim jacket and unfolded it before slipping it on. Nice and clean, it seemed to be glad to be back on his shoulders. "Well, thanks again, Steve. I feel like I'd be an Eddie-ice pop without you."

“Speaking of, is today a chamomile tea day or a mocha day?”

Eddie beamed. “I’ll take the usual small mocha and a chocolate chip loaf.”

“Warmed,” Steve added with a smile. His heart squeezed as Eddie beamed at him. He nodded towards Eddie’s notebook that he held under his arm. “So, do you write poetry?”

Eddie gave Steve a shy smile. “No, actually. Songs, they’re songs, well, half-songs. So kind of like poetry.” He patted his pocket before reaching in and producing a small folded piece of paper. “Actually, I’ve got a show coming up next week. It's a pretty small show, but it’ll melt your pretty little face off.”

Steve took the flier and looked it over. “Yeah, I’d-I’d love to come. Thank you.”

Eddie smiled. “And if you need, café-mandated uniforms are okay to wear.”

‘Hey, I thought you were done hating on the tan,” Steve laughed.

Eddie gave him a pointed look. “I’m not hating on it, I’m just saying their welcome at my show.”

And later that night when Eddie wrote, all leg-bouncing and pen-biting, Steve carefully set a second mocha in front of him.

“On the house,” he said.

Steve knew he’d spend the rest of his night remembering Eddie’s million-watt smile.

[sapphicagenda]

Rating: Explicit

No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Sister Beatrice/Ava Silva (Lilith makes a cameo)

Teaser (Final Chapter!):

There was a new urgency to the way they sought to get as much skin as possible touching as quickly as possible. Their breathing was already ragged, as if they were 10 km into a training run. Perhaps it was just the shared knowledge time was running out on their stolen day together, but it felt like more than that to Bea.

Ava made her feel safe and loved. Ava made her believe she was worthy—was wanted—exactly as she was. Ava made her believe that what she was… was beautiful.

And so, the want Bea felt now was both more complex and simpler than any she had faced before. It was about both Ava and her. She wanted to give, and to accept. She just… wanted.

And, for the first time in her life, she was completely at peace, body and soul, with the part of her that wanted.

[almondpiglet]

ppl were drawing mikus from all over so heres habesha miku and her lil twin sibs rin and len!!

[professionalscribbler]

One thing I will always appreciate about my ADHD is my ability to abstractly connect things that probably shouldn't connect. These images were probably chosen at random. But I needed a mental puzzle to solve tonight, so here I go! I'm adding/explaining symbolism to all these posters! (More under the cut)

Leo

What is literally happening in the poster: One of Leo's katanas is slicing a pizza in half.

What I know so far: In the teaser trailer, we see Leo has named his katanas Rules and Consequences. This choice lines up with what we know about him so far in the Mutant Mayhem iteration: he has Anxiety For Days, and is definitely the one who is the most future-thinking and worried about consequences.

The pizza has become iconic in the TMNT franchise, representing their fun-loving natures and the more comedic bits of the turtles' lives.

In the latest full trailer, Leo "rats" his brothers out to Splinter, being the one to tell the truth (follow the rules). He also between both trailers is the one almost always on guard, especially in the teaser trailer (e.g. the moment after the ninja star crashes through the watermelon and then the window).

The pizza is being sliced cleanly, yet not perfectly down the middle.

Splinter says Leo has honor.

What I think the poster is symbolizing: I think Leo's katana slicing through the pizza is symbolizing how Leo is having to serve as the brain cell of the turtles, having to reel the other three's fun and games in to make sure they don't get in too much trouble. (this is the most structurally sound point since in the trailer he LITERALLY ruins their fun of going to go get pizza by telling Splinter the truth!) This could give tension between him and the other turtles, due to them potentially seeing him as "no fun" despite him simply wanting to protect his brothers.

Splinter saying Leo has honor matches up with this, as Leo chooses the honorable path by telling Splinter the truth and looking out for his brothers. But with too much honor can come too much rigidness, which can be detrimental to his mental health (the way he reacts to things in the trailers indicates this is already happening).

The fact the pizza is not cut perfectly down the middle, which is something Leo would probably desire due to his anxious, people-pleaser personality, implies an internal conflict of his likely being his desire for being perfect for other people (especially if this Leo is the leader of the team).

On a broader scale, a sword cutting through a pizza can symbolize how violence will permanently alter the normal, carefree world the boys have lived in up to this point.

Raph

What is literally happening in the poster: One of Raph's sais is stabbing a cassette tape in one of its naturally occurring holes.

This one is my favorite because of how much it reveals about Raph!

What I know so far: This Raph definitely still has anger issues, as shown in the latest trailer. However, also in the latest trailer, we see the anger is directed less at his brothers and more at the villains, random objects, etc.

This Raph is also more visibly affectionate and joyful around his brothers (the clip of Mikey jumping on his back and Raph continuing to carry him with a smile lives in my head rent-free).

Raph is also shown to be very capable with various weapons. We see him with a katana, a throwing star, and of course his sais.

Cassette tapes are a very old form of music media, showing people who use them are more nostalgic, set in a certain pattern, or perhaps simply prefer the way music sounds on cassette players.

For those questioning if the movie takes place in a time when cassette players were the only way to get music, Donnie films Raph on a smartphone, Raph says in the full trailer that it's 2023. However, I'll concede to the argument that cassette players are the only type of music the boys may have access to in the sewers (although that one's a stretch too, since again, Donnie has a smartphone with access to the internet). So if someone is using a cassette tape in 2023, it is definitely more of a preference.

Music can say a lot about a person. Obviously I can't tell what type of music is on the cassette right now, as it is a still image of an unlabelled cassette, but the fact that it is colored red is giving me the indication that it belongs to Raph.

Also, cassettes have a very finite amount of space on them, so if Raph got to pick what songs are on the tape (and even if he didn't), whatever songs are on that tape are ones Raph holds very dear.

The sai is going through one of the two holes used for the cassette's connecting to the cassette player. The cassette is not broken.

Splinter says Raph has bravery.

What I think the poster is symbolizing: Oh baby I love this one! The sai is most likely representing Raph's violent tendency as well as his prolific nature with weaponry, and the cassette is representing his more personal, vulnerable side as well as his dedication to what he cares about. Note how the sai was most likely thrown at the cassette, but does not break the cassette. In other words, Raph may still have anger issues and might still be trigger-happy, but at the same time he is not afraid to show his chill, more personable side, not viewing his relationship with his siblings as a weakness. It's two sides of Raph's passion: his fierce and fiery passion for battle and his fierce yet soft passion for his brothers.

THAT BEING SAID, if the sai is pressed into the cassette any further, the cassette WILL break, meaning if Raph does not have at least some control over his anger and his desire for battle, his brothers may physically or emotionally get hurt. (note what happened to Donnie's leg in the teaser trailer)

This lines up with what Splinter tells Raph about having bravery. Raph is very brave, but if his bravery pushes into impulsiveness, someone will get hurt.

Donnie

What is literally happening in the poster: Donnie's bō is propping open a sewer grate.

This one is making me have to take a bit of a leap, so don't be surprised if this one ages like milk.

What I know so far: Donnie may not be the youngest, but judging from his voice (which I love with my whole heart) he hasn't hit puberty yet. This means he could potentially act more childlike than Mikey.

Donnie wears headphones around his neck, and he was the one filming the video of Raph and the watermelon, and he also was the one driving a car, meaning this Donnie will more than likely still be the tech guy (although since the other boys all had phones in the bedroom scene, this may not be as big a deal as in previous iterations).

Donnie still uses a bō, which we also see Splinter using one in the teaser trailer.

The sewer grate has been another iconic emblem of TMNT, since they usually are living in the sewers.

To prop something open usually implies needing to go back and forth through that place, but it also implies welcoming someone inside a place.

Donnie is fascinated by Superfly and his crew, stating he can't believe there are other mutants.

Splinter says Donnie has wisdom.

There's a scene where government agents are prepping guns and running towards something, then it cuts to the turtles looking beaten up, implying the agents (Bishop?) might be the cause.

What I think the poster is symbolizing: I think this poster might be implying Donnie might be a bit of a homebody, taking after Splinter a bit. He uses the bō like Splinter does (or at least tolerates using it if Splinter assigned him to it), and his tech orientation would have him wanting to stay at the home base a bit more. Not to say Donnie doesn't like going on adventures, but rather he may have the most growing up to do out of all the boys (sure, Raph probably had the idea of doing the watermelon tricks, but who added to that by filming it?). And with Splinter saying he has wisdom, perhaps he sees untapped potential in Donnie's intellect, a way he sees Donnie can grow.

I also think his bō propping open the sewer entrance means he might be more accepting of Superfly and his crew when they first meet, which we can already see happening a bit in the main trailer when Donnie reacts to Superfly in awe. It might also be foreshadowing that he accidentally leaves the base vulnerable for the government agents (Bishop???) to sneak in when the turtles try to flee.

Mikey

What is literally happening: one of Mikey's nunchucks is hanging on a telephone line, with a pair of tennis shoes hanging on another telephone line in the background.

This is the one that made me want to write this post. It is the most visually busy and also the most fascinating to me! Why the shoes? Why the telephone lines? My interest was piqued.

What I know so far: This Mikey is described by Splinter in the full trailer as "having heart".

There is a BEAUTIFUL shot in this trailer in which Mikey's standing in front of sewer grates in a way that makes it look like he's behind bars, in a cage.

His nunchuck has two stickers, one being THE 1987 ITERATION OF THE TURTLES (I think, my eyeballs aren't working well right now) and the other being a slice of pizza.

Judging by his voice, Mikey has hit puberty, meaning this Mikey may act a little less childlike than in previous iterations.

Mikey asks his brothers about what they would do if they weren't so different from the general population.

Shoes can symbolize durability, as they help protect your feet from the various terrain types you can come across in life. They also can represent freedom, such as the freedom to walk wherever you want.

Telephone lines can symbolize communication, and they are also a motif in the trailers, due to the boys using them to travel several times, as well as telephone lines being at about the same height as several buildings we see them traversing.

The shoes are tied to the telephone line.

What I think the poster is symbolizing: Firstly, the easiest point now is the sticker I noticed literally while writing this. Mikey's nunchuck having a pizza slice sticker indicates that Mikey is still the carefree fun-having heart we know from previous iterations.

The shoes and nunchuck on the telephone line symbolize Mikey's desire for freedom on the surface (where you see telephone lines). Sure, he gets to see them when he and his brothers are traversing the city, but he wants to not have to travel on the lines, he wants to travel under the lines, on the street like normal humans. He's starting to feel trapped in the lifestyle living in the shadows has to offer him.

The durability of the shoes may reference Mikey's durability as the heart of the team. He is always smiling, and he communicates the best he can (note his asking Leo what happened to Donnie's leg in the teaser).

Splinter calling Mikey the heart combined with his hitting puberty earlier than we'd have expected could mean Mikey's growth aspect will be his maturing as the heart. His care for the others will grow, and perhaps he will realize that as long as he's accepted by his brothers, he doesn't need to worry about what anyone else thinks.

I may have more thoughts to add later, but I'm getting tired, so that's it for now! If you read this far, thank you so much! Hope you enjoyed!

[da-janela-lateral]

It seems that 'popular', 'athletic' and 'bright blue eyes' aren't their only similarities.

[yuukirita]

Look what chapters out- number seven. We get some more happy busy Bee. And STEVE is BACK.

[choccy-milky]

how seb and clora get together in my fic 💕bc what better time and place to confess and share your first kiss than around a bunch of inferi + the dead body of a man you just killed?? 🥰💖

[steviesbicrisis]

Okay, I was supposed to write a quick reblog and then it turned into a whole thing, you mentioning the victory kiss made me go on a spiral of Steddie as Zimbits from OMG Check Please (you don't have to know it to understand the story but I recommend it, it's super good!), but Baseball version because I’m a sucker for baseball player Steve. Also, I didn't even get to the victory kiss, so I guess I'll make a part two with that (?) this was too long already, I apologize ahahah also, I know nothing about baseball, I apologize for that as well lmao

Steve started playing because he wanted to impress his parents, his love for the sport came way after. After the sleepless nights, the anxiety, the panic attacks, the relentless training, the painkillers, the fear of not being good enough, and finally, the overdose.

His love for the sport started after he woke up alone in his hospital bed because finally, like he had always feared, his parents were disappointed in him. They were too embarrassed to still call him their son.

Steve realized, once he didn’t feel his dads eyes on him, he loved playing baseball, he was good - great at it, and he could do it as a career. He just had to bring his university team to victory and make a good impression on the right people.

Having this new goal in mind, he had the strength of coming back to his team, of facing the public eye, the pity stares and any other obstacle in his way. The most difficult one to overcome was, in his opinion, making sure everyone on his team was in top condition. Because that also included Eddie Munson.

The thing is, Steve doesn’t hate Munson; the guy might be a little weird, he might make one too many nerdy jokes that he never understands, and somehow he can make his guitar appear everywhere he goes, even if no one saw him carrying it. But he can understand nerd, he can get over the impromptu jam sessions. What he cannot get on is Munson being in his team despite not having played baseball before, one day of his life.

Coach told him they recruited him because he’s a fast runner which, yes, it’s a very important aspect of the game, but he cannot hit something with a bat to save his life.

From their first practice he can tell Munson has no idea what he’s supposed to do with himself and it makes Steve angry. He has everything at stake, the rest of his life depends on his team performing well and he can’t lose again because of Eddie Munson.

Steve takes it upon himself to train Eddie so he will pull his weight for the team. When he schedules their first training session at 5:00 am, he’s pretty sure Munson classifies him as his number one enemy, but Steve doesn’t care.

The practice, to put it simply, is a total disaster.

“You can’t close your eyes when I throw the ball, dude! No wonder you never hit it!” Steve groans.

“I don’t do it on purpose, dude! I know I’m gonna get hit so I prepare for the worse!” Munson’s tone is panicked but Steve doesn’t care.

Steve marches until he’s in Munson’s space “either you get it together or you’re out of the team, understood?”

Munson looks at him in a mixture of fear and anger, he opens his mouth, then closes it again, and then he just says “understood.”

~~~

With time, things get better in the team. Steve knows he’s a strict captain (General No-Fun, as Munson calls him) but when he sees the team’s improvements he can’t be mad at himself. Even Munson can hit a ball or two when he manages to keep his eyes open.

“So Steve, for your Winter Screw date…” Steve rolls his eyes at the mention of the stupid tradition.

“Winter Screw? What’s that?” Munson interjects. Steve is relieved from the attention and all of their teammates are on him explaining the tradition of throwing a party every year where your teammates pick your date for you. They are making a long list of girls they could pick for him when he interrupts them.

“O-oh, I see” Munson looks extremely uncomfortable and that catches Steve’s attention. He usually walks into a room like he’s the only person around, he never cares about what other people think, he’s the only one to bite back at Steve during practice. What could possibly make him feel uncomfortable about a blind date?

“All the girls you mentioned seem lovely but-“ he stops in his tracks, he’s making the same face he does when Steve throws a ball at him “I’m gay.”

Everyone stops walking and they turn around. Everything makes sense.

Steve understands the odd behavior and, being a bisexual professional baseball player, he can sympathize with the fear of coming out to a bunch of jocks. He doesn’t know them as well as Steve does.

Munson looks at him, probably confused by his smile, but he doesn’t get to ask any questions because the rest of the team is all over him “no problem dude! What is your type? I know this drummer in my calculus class and he’s the shit!”

Steve walks behind the overly excited group and tries not to wonder why he feels so happy about the news on Eddie's sexuality.

~~~

Winter Screw sucks like every year. Steve was set up, once again, with Nancy Wheeler. They’re good friends and they dated for a while but they agreed they were better off just as friends, a concept that the team refuses to accept.

“Who are you looking for?” Nancy asks, sipping her drink “I thought we were doing this because you don’t have anyone and you don’t want to be set up.”

“I have no one” he confirms "and I don't want to be set up."

“So?” She presses.

“So, I’m just worried about a friend, I haven’t seen him around in a while” he tries to be as convincing as possible, but nothing escapes Nancy’s detective skills.

“Oh, a friend” she smiles, knowingly “go look for him then, I don’t want you to be worried, I have to leave early anyway.”

They argue back and forth, Steve tries to convince her there’s nothing going on, which is the absolute truth, and then he escorts her to her car.

He’s going back inside when he notices Munson, leaning against the wall, all alone nursing a drink. He's wearing a pair of tight ripped jeans, a graphic shirt of some band Steve has never heard of and a leather jacket way too thin for a cold December night. But he looks gorgeous in it.

“Munson? Where’s your date?” He calls him, making him startle.

“Jesus Christ Harrington, wear a belt on your neck!” He adjusts his position and sips a bit of his drink “my date you say? He was wonderful, we talked for five minutes, then he threw up on my shoes and left.”

“Oh god, that’s… a disaster” Steve chuckles. He notices Munson is wearing smudged eyeliner. He also notices he's happy to find him alone. He decides to ignore both of those facts.

“What about your date? She seemed nice” he leans off the wall to look around for her.

“She had to go early. C’mon on I’ll walk with you to the dormitory” Steve offers, gesturing to follow him.

Steve is also quick to notice Eddie’s shivering, so he offers him his jacket and scolds him for wearing light clothes. And he also ignores the pleasing sensation he feels when Munson wears something of his and takes it to his room, after saying goodbye to Steve.

~~~

They nearly lose a game, and get saved by Munson.

True to his reputation of being the fastest runner on the team, his quick movements agitate their opponents immediately. Their frustration turns into anger when it’s time for him to bat. He takes a way-too-fast ball right on his face, Steve can tell it wasn't an accident and that they were aiming at his face all along.

After Munson is taken out of the field, Steve can't do anything but take the win home. And aim a couple of shots at painful body parts, to keep things fair.

Once the game is over he doesn’t indulge in any celebration, he runs to the lockers to find Munson with the medical staff and an ice pack on his nose.

“Hey, Harrington! What happened, did we win?” He tries to smile but winces because of the pain.

Steve sits next to him on the bench “we won” he nods “how’s your nose? How are you? Are you-“ Steve doesn’t know what to ask. Traumatized? Scarred for life? Has your fear become ten times worse?

“I’m fine” his voice is muffled by the ice pack “stop looking at me like that or I might think you’re worried about me” he jokes, but it doesn’t make Steve laugh.

“I am worried, you got hit by a ball” Steve presses, and Munson looks surprised.

He stares at Steve for a long moment, something shifts in the air but he can’t tell what it is “yeah, but I’m fine, I swear. Maybe this is what I needed, to get rid of the fear, you know?”

“I’d appreciated it very much if you used other methods that don’t include breaking your nose, you know?” Steve snorts.

“Captain Steve Harrington, always needing to boss his troops around, even on how they get injured” he mocks him.

“If you have the energy to mock me I’d say you don’t have many problems at all” Steve shakes his head.

They hear the rest of the team celebrating outside in the field “you should be with them, I bet we won because of you” Munson says, staring at the door where the sound is coming from.

“We won because of you” he says honestly “and I’d rather stay here.”

Munson doesn’t respond after that, making Steve think he said something wrong. He looks at his teammate out of the corner of his eye and notices that he has been staring at him, silently.

The mood shifts again, Steve feels nervous under his stare. It’s not bad as when he used to feel his dad’s, this time it’s somehow comforting and exciting.

He notices they’ve leaned really close to each other only when the guy from the medical staff comes in to take Munson to do a check-up.

He jumps off of the bench, and follows the staff, leaving Steve alone with his conflicting thoughts.

~~~

It’s all for nothing.

Munson getting hit, months of ruthless practice, staying up late with Coach to plan strategies, waking up early to get extra training.

It’s all for nothing when they lose the final, Steve’s last game before his graduation.

A part of him knows this isn’t his fault, he did the best he could to win. But today the part of him that reminds him how much of a disappointment he is for his parents, his team and his friends, that part wins.

So he sits alone in one of the storage rooms next to the lockers, and he can only think about how much of a failure he is. He had never been good at anything in his life, he was average at best at school, he had no hobbies, no other career paths to pursue after this.

He had nothing if he didn’t have baseball, and he had failed.

He hears someone opening the door and footsteps coming toward him. It’s Munson.

For a long moment, they just stare at each other. Then a sob escapes Steve’s lips and suddenly Munson is sitting next to him.

He doesn’t say anything, he just hugs Steve tight and lets him cry on his shoulder.

~~~

Graduation day is bittersweet. They lost the Cup, but Steve gave a good impression on some recruiters, so he will be playing for the best professional team in the State next fall.

A lot of his teammates are graduating, but some still have a year or two of University. That includes Munson, having repeated his senior year of high school “one too many times” as he says jokingly.

Speaking of Munson, his uncle came to take him home for the holidays. He looks a little rough, but Steve can tell he's fond of his nephew.

Steve's mum also came. She called a few weeks before graduation to tell her son she was divorcing and she would like a second chance. Steve doesn't know if he can trust her, but her presence at his graduation makes him feel hopeful. She's talking to Wayne Munson when Eddie approaches him.

"So, I guess this is it" he says, sighing dramatically.

Steve envelops him in a hug "drop the act, we're still seeing each other, I'm coming to say hi in august before the season starts."

"Oh yeah, cool" it's all that Munson says, breaking the hug "I'll see you in august then."

They look at each other, both expecting something more, both knowing that simple goodbye isn't enough. But none of them says anything more.

"Tesoro sei pronto? dobbiamo andare o faremo tardi" Steve's mum calls for him.

"Si un attimo, arrivo" Steve notices Munson's puzzled look, "she said we have to go, I think she wants to take me out for lunch."

"I still gotta get used to you speaking in Italian" Munson says, looking away.

"What? you have a thing for the accent or something?" Steve teases, not expecting to see the other blush.

"maybe I do" he shrugs "well, I still gotta finish packing, have a nice summer, Harrington."

Munson takes off, and Steve keeps his eyes on him until he's too far away to be seen.

~~~

Steve is running.

Logically speaking, he has nothing to run for. His mother said she will wait for him, Munson left not too long ago and Steve would bet he's a disaster at packing, so it will probably take him a while.

Steve keeps running nonetheless.

He reaches Munson's dorm in time record, he finds the door open and his teammate folding some clothes on his desk. He has a pair of headphones on so he hasn't noticed Steve's presence yet. He's sniffling.

"Eddie" Steve calls for him, a little out of breath, but Eddie doesn't hear him.

"Eddie" Steve tries again, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Eddie turns around and looks at him, confused. His eyes are watery "Harrington? what are you doing here? And you're out of breath, did something happen? you could've tex-"

But Steve interrupts him "Eddie."

Eddie doesn't know what to say, "Steve?"

Steve takes him by the shoulders, they stare at each other and the air is, once again, filled with everything unsaid between them, of what Steve had been ignoring since he had met him. But he's done ignoring that now.

Steve leans over and kisses him. And when, after the initial shock, Eddie kisses him back, he feels as if he had just won a thousand Cups altogether.

It's the best feeling in the world.

Does anyone have any athlete steddie fics or anything in the general vein? I’m not picky I just have a burning need for a steddie victory kiss that breaks the internet bc no one knew these two were an item, let alone madly in love enough to credit any and all success they’ve ever had to the other.

[demaparbat-hp]

Imperfect Canvass

Read on AO3.

It's easy to forget, there, in Caldera. So they do everything in their power to remember. . The Blue Spirit and the Painted Ghost meet in the city each night, two souls in eternal search for repentance. Katara tries to find a way to kill the war, whatever it takes. Zuko, the Perfect Prince, offers her the only pieces of him that remain.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

I hope you take this as the compliment it is intended to be, but you strike the same chord of irreverence-as-love, jokes-to-showcase-sencerity that I get from Chuck Tingle, and I adore both of you.

You have bestowed the greatest honour upon me.

[joelsflower]

love language | origins!logan x f!reader

logan told you one million times he didn’t want anything for his birthday… anything besides you, lingerie and the moonlight.

a/n: hiiii <33 lis disappeared but is back again and apparently still obsessed with the concept of hot old men unwrapping you like a present. the hugh jackman fever hit me VERY hard and im down bad cough cough enjoy! also to enhance the experience when i say “he looked up at you” pls picture him exactly like in this picture ☝🏼and expect to feel something growing in ur belly in the next 9 months

wc: 4k

warnings: 18+ mdni. pure smut and fluff!! lingerie, logan is obsessed w reader, older!logan (i picture him in origins cause wtf is this man and reader in her early/middle 20s but up to you! legal ofc!!) fingering and eating out but brief cause reader is hot to go!, blowjob, facefucking & deepthroat (not rough), unprotected piv (wrap it up!), creampie, AFTERCARE!!! like SO MUCH logan is soooo soft!dom in this the whole time is like toothache sweet cause it’s a lis fic and yes. they are IN LOVE yall. oh and also reader is a kindergarten teacher (oops

🎀🎀🎀

“Stay”

You grabbed his wrist the moment he recollected his will to leave the end of the bed. Logan’s eyes turned soft, finding you from over his shoulder and turning around to follow the sunlight that kissed your cheeks.

“I wish, angel,” he cooed, both hands brushing your cheeks while his body towered over you “but someone already made me late, huh?”

You gave him a shy smile to meet the smirk that adorned his features, both of you sharing the memories of your bodies tangled just minutes prior. “Wanted to give you a present,” you almost whispered, remembering the one hundred times he told you he didn’t want anything for his birthday.

Not a cake, not a present, not a party. Nothing. Just you.

Logan’s smile faded, but you knew he wasn’t mad. With large hands embracing your neck softly, he kissed you on the forehead, “told you,” on the nose, “you are,” on the jaw, “the only thing i want”, and on your mouth, leaving the taste of him to linger on your lips throughout the whole day.

Your eyes slowly drifted up to find his gaze, the back of your head now resting on his palms.

“Promise” he gave you a sterner look before walking towards the door, “I promise,” you whispered, following as the smile you had earned earlier returned to his face, his back only turning to you when he heard the words fall from your lips.

But it was only a half promise. After all, he still wanted nothing but you, right?

🎀🎀🎀

The day passed by very slowly. You didn’t work on fridays, so you spent the most of it correcting some grades and planning the activities for your next week’s classes. You missed the kids, you can’t lie, and having glue and glitter all over your house definitely distracted you from the little something that was waiting patiently inside a very fancy box on the back of your closet.

The sun was setting around the time Logan would be home and you also had finished all the things you had planned earlier, so you used the time you had to take a shower and get ready.

The scent of some very sweet flower graced your nostrils when you pulled the lid of the heart-shaped box. Your eyes glowed in awe when your fingertips brushed the delicate baby pink lace, the little hairs on your lower belly goosebumping with anticipation, thinking how beautiful you’d feel in it and how the man that loved you would feel about you in it.

And that’s when you heard his steps on the stairs.

Logan arrived silently, and in part to make sure you hadn’t burnt yourself out making some sort of surprise for him. It’s not that he didn’t trust you, but all the glitter and glue on the table and the all the silence scared him a bit.

“Baby?” He called you while undressing himself down to his black t-shirt and boxers. “Oh, hey you,” his expression softened when his eyes found your head peaking from the bathroom door, gaze savoring the sight of him slowly unbuckling his belt.

“How was your day?” you asked watching him from the same spot, the muscles of his arms flexing when he reached to close the door and turn off the lights. Exactly how he said, the only things he wanted for his birthday were you, the lingerie he still didn’t know about, and the moon watching the two of you through the window.

“Great. Apparently someone told the guys it was my birthday and they let me work on paper today. So… Not so tired as I usually am.”

“I’m not sorry for that,” you smiled, knowing exactly who told the guys it was his birthday.

“I know,” he reciprocated your smirk, offering a hand in your direction. “Come here.”

Your breath got momentarily caught in your throat, excitement bursting in your body like fireworks in your veins.

“Close your eyes,” you said.

“Sweetheart-“

“Please?”

And how could he not? When your soft voice asked so nicely for him to? And the sweet and at the same time sexy scent of your perfume bewitched his thoughts? With your eyelashes blinking up at him and making the cold of his claws run to the lower of his spine? If closing his eyes would end the distance between you, then he would.

You then stepped carefully towards him, trying not to bump onto his knees and ruin the surprise.

You took both of his hands within yours, playing his fingers with your smaller ones. The simple contact made him shiver, the warmth of your presence washing all his tiredness and worries away.

“Could sit here with my eyes closed and just smell you forever”

You grinned. You knew his senses were heightened and definitely wanted to play with it tonight.

“Well, you told me you didn’t want to receive anything,” you then brought his hands to the sides of your thighs, the firmness of his palms on your soft skin sending shivers up and down your belly.

“Not totally true,” he thumbed your leg, fingertip brushing dangerously close to the fabric.

“Mhmm,” your hands glued on top of his and guided them a little lower, his palms now resting on top of the delicate, lacy garters adorning your thighs, “but I want you to feel it.”

Logan’s thoughts were in completely caos. Which of course, could only be translated by the grin on his face. You were close enough that he could not only smell your perfume and your scent, but knowing that he was the one causing that and with so little effort drove him insane. He could hear your accelerated heartbeat and used the grip on your legs to soothe you, moving his thumbs up and down, up and down, very slowly, feeling the contrast between the lacy fabric and your thighs.

“Yeah?”

You agreed silently, using your grip to move one of his hands all the way up to your belly in a very slow motion, to then release them both and let Logan’s fingers dance freely around your body.

The one hand he kept down gripped your thigh harder, snaking down to the back of your knee to bend it over his own leg, giving him better access to the rest of you. The thumb on your belly caressed around of your belly button in small circles and traced all the little flowers and bows on the thing garter that hugged your waist and decorated your breasts. The image being painted on Logan’s mind was already enough to make his underwear start to stiffen.

“Oh, baby,” he breathed, and it felt like the first fresh breath he had taken in the day.

The contrast of his rough digits with your delicate skin made your body a too tight space to contain yourself, inching closer to him at every touch. He then surrounded your middle with both of his arms and gave your stomach a kiss, your fingers playing with the hairs on the nape of his neck when he moved his face upwards, his chin rested on your tummy, eyes inching to meet yours.

“Can I see you, princess? Please?”

You hummed a quiet “mhmm”, and when he looked up at you with the most lovelorn eyes you had ever seen, you weren’t strong enough to hold back and kissed him.

It felt like the first kiss you two have had in a lifetime; deep, warm and wet. Your tongues danced together while his arms kept you impossibly closer, hands tightly holding from the back of your thighs to the top of your spine. When you parted to breathe, his eyes found yours again;

“There’s my girl. Let me see you, baby,” he held your hand in his and you took his signal to do a little spin, showing him your lacy one-piece.

“Happy birthday, love” you whispered, hands resting on his shoulders to balance yourself, one leg returning to rest on his.

“So you’re my present, hm?” Logan waited for you silent confirmation, palms devouring your thighs and ass while the kisses that he so gently placed on your knee slowly inched forward, “and do I get to unwrap you, angel?”

At that moment your walls were already pulsing with desire and your mind was already empty of words. You felt his lips wrap at a very special place on your inner thigh while his opposite hand moved up to message one of your boobs. You knew it wouldn’t take much for any of you to release control and quit the teasing, and being both on the verge of bursting the whole day waiting for the other, that was the time and the place.

You whimpered when his hand moved down and cupped your clothed center, his lips now distributing pecks on your hip while your nails dig in his shoulders.

“Gonna let me taste you, sweet girl? Hm?” He kissed your beating clit trough the lace and you nodded your head fastly, not being able to hold back anymore. You knew very well the animalistic look he had on his eyes now and the way his hands couldn’t rest in just one spot; he wanted nothing but to devour, explore and adore you.

With your consent, Logan wasted no time in sliding the delicate fabric to the side to meet your leaking pussy. The groan that left his chest when he saw your juices dripping to down your legs put your whole body on fire, followed by the cold that ran through your veins when two of his digits gently spread your lips apart.

“Fuck, look at you,” his thumb toyed with your clit, drawing little circles with a small pressure of the pad, “that’s how wet this little pussy gets for me, hm? Left you waiting the whole day to take care of you… Bad ol’ man, ain’t I?”

“N-no, you’re g-ood,” you managed to take the words out, eyes rolling to the back of your head and nails digging impossibly deeper into his shoulders when his digits lowered down and teased your opening, “and I wanna. Fuck. Wanna be good for you, Logan.”

“Oh, you are, princess. You’re my best girl.”

Pressing your clit between his lips and tongue, he sucked and savoured on it as if you were the source of all life on the planet, the most succulent fruit to the most starving man, like he himself once said; the sweetest thing he had ever tasted. His fingers pumped in and out of your hole rhythmically, hitting deeper and deeper each time. His other hand gripped your ass tightly and pressed your lower body impossibly closer to his face, making you moan loudly with all the stimulation.

You felt your walls start to clench his digits and pulled his head back by his hair to join your mouths in a wet, hot kiss, your other hand slowly removing his own from your sopping pussy, your shaking legs leading you to straddle him.

In his lap, the kiss only deepened; your and his movements were desperate, constantly searching for each other. You gripped his shirt by the collar and helped him take it off of his body, his muscular torso greeting you. Your hands eagerly pressed against his chest while Logan dig his fingers deep into your waist and moved you back and forth, your cunt pooling his underwear with the grinding of your exposed center on his throbbing and neglected cock.

“Wait- Logan, wait,” you pulled his roots again, making him moan.

“I’m here,” he rest his forehead on yours, fingers playing with the ends of your head while your breaths and heartbeats found the other’s rhythm.

“Wanna suck on you”

“Get on your knees for me then,” he demanded after a moment staring at you, trying to hide in his smile the excitement that flooded through his body.

You removed your body from his finding balance on his shoulder, lowering down to your knees on the carpet with the help of his arms around you.

He looked so, so beautiful like this. His prince hair and strong shoulders outerlined by the glowing moonlight that touched his back. His arm muscles tensin when one palm rested on his thigh and the other lowered down to finger-kiss your face. The “thank you, I love you” look he had on his eyes the whole time you were together. Who wouldn’t get get on their knees for this?

“That’s it princess, comfortable there?” You nodded and spread his legs a little, giving you space to kneel closer. He gave you another peck on the lips and moved his hands to rest flat on the bed, giving you all the freedom to do your thing.

You started by running your hands up and down his thighs while kissing down his abdomen, the thick path of hairs on his belly tickling your lips. Slowly, your hand snaked to his boxers while your mouth kept him distracted, licking the angry veins on his happy trail.

You palmed him eagerly, the volume of his member filling your whole palm and a little more. This first contact was enough to earn a raspy groan from his chest and some beads of precum that pooled on the little wet patch between his tip and boxers, where you butterfly-kissed before finally putting his underwear down.

You used your hands to spread his precum down and pump him a bit, desperate to have him in your mouth, you kept moving up and down while your mouth lowered to wrap around his tip, nursing on it like it was your favorite lollipop.

Your messiness has Logan seeing stars. Spit and precum was all over your face already, tongue darting up and down his shaft with desire. He almost screamed when your fingers played with the very top of his head and you lowered your mouth to his balls, suckling each into your mouth carefully.

“Jesus baby, that’s my girl, fuck-“

But it wasn’t enough. You were starved for him, for his pleasure. You waited the whole day to see his mouth hanging in bliss and you also wanted him to have what he wanted. You took his mouth of off his balls and kept lazily stroking him, lashes batting up to meet his eyes, “Fuck my mouth?”

Logan couldn’t believe how such a cute thing like you could look so sexy saying such filthy words. He loved it.

“Are you sure?” You nodded.

He then motioned for you to scoot back a little so he could get up, positioning himself in front of you, now both of you in front of the bed, sides facing the window.

He could die like this. The last thing he would ever see in his life could easily be you, on your knees, fucked out face with his precum and spit all over your face, with the moonlight reflecting on your rounded eyes just waiting for him to love on you. And he would die peacefully.

“Gonna start real gentle, ‘kay?” he assured you while brushing your hair back to hold it in his hands, one wrapping around the strands at the back of your head and the other holding his member.

“Lemme see this pretty tongue, baby’” he waited for your mouth to hang open and positioned his tip on top of your waiting tongue, tapping and circling it there. Logan kept teasing you (and himself) for a moment like this, smearing the leaking tip of his cock all over your mouth, tracing your tongue and lips at a torturing pace until he understood the desperate look in your widened eyes and scrunched brows, a silent “please”.

“Shh, gonna give you what y’want, princess. Suck on the tip, hm? Just the tip. Like you were doing before,” you loved when he ordered you around like this, especially when he looked so big towering over you and his voice was so low and deep like it was right now. You wasted no time in closing your already plump lips around him and deliciously suffocating his bulbous head in your mouth.

“That’s it bub, fuck. That’s my girl,” he loved when you were so obedient like you were right now during sex, his own little princess. His free hand stroked the part of his cock that wasn’t enveloped by your lips, using the mix of your spit and his own precum that was everywhere by now.

Your hands left your lap to dig into his thighs and your movements started to get more shallow, eyelids heaving and lashes blinking slowly up at him. You knew what you wanted, and Logan knew too, and he was gonna give it you.

The hand that was on his cock moved up to hold your jaw and the back of your head, inclining it up a bit so your face was now completely turned to him. This simple move of his already made his cock slip a little further into your mouth, taking a moan from both of you.

“Shhh, angel, yeah, that’s it,” his firm hold in the back of your head allowed you to stop moving and he slowly started to move his hips, pumping his cock in and out of your mouth carefully to not gag you. Not right now, at least. “Gonna give it to you slow, baby. You can take it, can’t you?” He knew an answer for you wouldn’t be exactly available at the moment, but you gave your best to manage out a nod, “know you can, bub.”

Logan kept his pace for a while before roughening and fastening it a bit to prepare you, tightening his grip on your head and steading the movements of his hips, his cock now halfway into your mouth, in and out, in and out. He felt your lips and throat loosening and the gagging sounds leaving your lips were driving him insane, his bones were on fire from keeping back and not just fuck your throat like he (and you) wanted.

When his tip kissed the edge of your throat you let your eyes close and your hands fall to his calf, letting him know you were ready, “just a bit more, sweet girl, just-“ his tip entered your throat with ease, curving a bit to follow its anatomy. When your lips finally touched the hairs on his base and his whole cock was seated into your hot mouth, he stilled completely.

You could hear his heavy breathing as if he ran a marathon in five minutes. The silence between the two of you letting you know that if he said or did anything he was surely cuming at that right moment. Logan’s eyes were closed and his head turned to the ceiling, brows furrowed trying to contain himself.

Your fingers caressed his leg slightly, reminding him you were ready, and when his gaze turned down to give you attention, dark and serious, like a big wolf preying down a little bunny, you knew what he was feeling. It faded quickly though when his eyes found yours, his rough expression turning into a smile, “you’re my best girl, aren’t you? That’s what y’wanted babe? To choke on my dick?”

You blinked your eyes assuringly, the heaviness of your eyelids taking a sexy, deep laugh from his chest. His hand left your head momentarily to caress your cheek with the back of his point finger, “think you can swallow for me?” he whispered.

You’ve done that before, and the feeling was nothing like anything you’ve ever experienced, the both of you. And you felt that it was coming by the calm and patient way he was dealing with you tonight. Logan was always careful to ask for things that edged your limits, always trying his best to keep you safe and comfortable. And who were you to deny the birthday boy what he was asking for?

You prepared yourself and slowly clenched your throat, suffocating his tip in the curve of it. Tears involuntarily pooled and fell from your eyes with the overstimulation and the feeling of oh, being so full of him, of his cock angrily pulsing in the whole extent of your mouth and now your throat. Logan’s eyes turned to the back of his head and his mouth hanged open, his fingers flexing in your hair to not lose control.

“O-one more time ba-“ and before he could even finish his sentence you were swallowing him down again, this time earning a loud and raspy groan from him, “fuck! baby, c’mon,” he carefully pulled himself from your mouth, cock hanging angry and desperate from your activities. “Need to feel you,” and kissed you hungrily.

He pulled you by your arms and intertwined them around his neck, tapping your bum slightly in a sign for you to jump in his lap. Logan was careful to drop you on the bed, never parting your lips and laying with his whole body weight on top of you. The hairs on his chest feathering over your nipples and the kiss of his tip over your folds were growing in you a type of desire you couldn’t quite decipher.

Sweat, spit and love were everywhere, your bodies swayed under the moonlight as if you were one. While your tongues fought for space into the other’s mouth, he reached a hand down and starting to thumb your clit, applying a delicious amount of pressure that had your mouth unplugging from his with a whine. When you felt his head finally circling your hole, you released him and turned around.

“Like that?” Logan watched as you switched positions, large palm finding your lower back while you placed yourself tummy down on the bed. “Can we?” you whispered, looking at him over your shoulder.

Logan smiled; if you kept being this cute he was going to fuck the sense out of you without effort. His other hand reached behind your knee and lifted it, giving him more easy access to you. Positioning himself into your entrance, he slipped his cock up and down your folds, your juices mixing in a squelching sound.

When he felt your hole flutter and your eyes close, your smaller fingers gripping the sheets, he reached up and kissed a drying tear in your cheek, “shhh baby, g’na go slow, ‘kay?” you nodded. There’s no exaggeration, Logan was big. Big and wide and veiny and filled you in all the right places.

The moment his head eased into you, you were seeing stars. The way your walls spread to welcome his girth made your mind fuzzy and all your senses heightened, the moan he left ecoed in your brain and the touch of his hand embracing yours burned like fire. He slowly pressed forward until his cock was perfectly engulfed inside you, both his member and your walls pulsing in unison.

“Move,” you mewled, fingers gripping his thumb in need. Logan used the hand on the small of your back to balance himself, starting to pump in an out at a perfect pace; not so fast but not so slow, deep, deep as he could to kiss every inch of your cunt and rearrange your insides.

“Pussy so warm, angel. Gripping me so tight,” he sad in your ear, “my little sweet gift.”

Stars exploded all the way down your spine, the fullness of his cock pumping your pussy and the weight of his body pressing on top of yours drove you over the edge, your walls gripping him tightly while you came, bringing his thumb into your mouth.

“That’s it, sweet girl, come for me,” he kissed your temple, “gush this cock, it’s all yours,” Logan slowed his pace inside you to let you calm down, caressing your hair and distributing kisses around your teary eyes.

“Think you can take a bit more, princess?” he whispered gently in your ear, his cock still throbbing inside you, “just a bit and I’ll be done. So I can fill your pussy up and good? Keep you full and plugged with me, hm?” You nodded with his thumb still between your lips and felt his hips meet your ass again.

It was so good. The overstimulation had you throbbing nonstop and your head in the clouds. Logan’s groans and moans were music to your ears along with his “that’s it, princess, fuck”, “whose’s pussy is this, hm? All mine to fuck and love on, ain’t it?”, “yeah, baby, that’s my sweet girl. Taking it so good f’me”, until he himself could take anymore, his cock pulsating and balls stiffening, until his voice got muffled by a low groan and you felt his seed fill you completely, gushing your insides and spilling down and off your walls.

“Fuck, fuck,” he whispered, tired. His forehead rested on your temple as you both calmed down, breathing harmonised. Logan awaited until you opened your eyes and delicately pulled his thumb from your mouth, brushing your hair off of your face.

“Hi,” he smiled.

“Hey,” you reciprocated, receiving a little peck on the lips, that turned into many many kisses all over your face while his palm messaged your back. “Thank you, sweetheart. Gonna pull out now, ‘kay?”

While Logan left to the bathroom to clean himself and find a cloth to clean you, you rested your chin on your forearms and stared up at the full moon through the window, sweetly reminiscing the last hour and thanking her for him. On moments like these all your mind could process was Logan Logan Logan.

“Here, bub,” he carefully whipped the fluids from your pussy, the pair of you giggling when you clenched in sensitivity, “c’mon, I draw the bath.”

You hand Logan spent another hour in the warm bath, cleaning and caressing and stealing kisses while the bubbles danced on your skin. You rested your head on his chest and lifted one finger, using the others to simulate a lighter to lit up the “candle”. “Here, make a wish,” you motioned it in front of his face, taking a laugh from him, who closed his eyes and made some funny faces to amuse you. He then blew your finger and playfully bit it, “what did you wish?”

“Well, I can’t tell you, can I?”

You kissed him and closed your eyes, laying back to your position on his shoulder.

“You. You’re my only wish.”

🎀🎀🎀

[sceletaflores]

slippery when wet!

pairing: patrick zweig x fem!reader

summary: “so who fucks better?” he asks bluntly, a bead of sweat dripping down the column of his throat and into the neck of his tank. a shocked laugh bursts from your lips. “what?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest. “who fucks better?” he repeats slowly, leaning down to meet your eye. “me or art? don’t fucking lie to me and tell me that prissy farmer boy makes you come harder than i do.”

—or: patrick puts you in your place three months later.

word count: 4.3k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, p in v, fighting as foreplay, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it y’all!), rough sex, semi-public sex, oral sex (m!receiving), fingering...kinda (fem!receiving), very light spanking, choking, degradation, creampie, throat fucking, mean!reader my beloved, art donaldson is there in spirit, patrick is gay for art, porn with a little plot, no use of y/n.

author’s note: no one can stop me from writing rough sex patrick fics. it's all i think about 24/7, and you guys are no help but like i love it so it's fine. i'm here to serve you and this is clearly what you want so who am i to deny you that? thank you to the beautiful anon who requested this, i hope you don't mind that i changed it from a locker room scene to a bathroom scene but that was just calling to me hehe. okay bye! hope you love it! xoxo mwah.

psst! tftw series masterlist!

You’ve been on the court for at least an hour and a half, running drills and trying to sweat out all of your stress. You were the only one in the building, but it was always less busy during finals week. Most people were camped out in their dorms cramming for fifty question tests or four part lab practicals. 

Art politely declined your invite, too busy studying for his business final on Monday. So you rented a tennis machine and worked on your backhand that way. It was a nice distraction, emptying your head enough that all the anxiety of finals started to melt away as you slid into a steady rhythm with the machine.

The door bangs open with a loud creak behind you, bursting the little bubble of tranquility surrounding you. The back of your head burns with the unmistakable feeling of someone glaring at you.

You hear him before you see him, a loud call of your name followed by heavy footsteps quickly coming towards you. The sound of his voice immediately grates on your nerves, all angry and shouty. You choose to ignore it, focusing on hitting each new ball the machine spits out.

It may have been a couple months since you’ve seen Patrick, but you’d always recognize the familiar way his voice wraps around each syllable in your name.

Three months, to be exact. It’s been three months since your big fight over the phone with Patrick. You blocked his number right after you hung up, so you haven’t spoken to him in just as long. He never tried to reach out, never messaged you on AOL or Facebook. The petty fuck actually went out of his way to unfriend you on both, so you knew he wasn’t exactly torn up about your abrupt split. 

“Hey! I’m talking to you,” Patrick shouts over the loud humming, sounding closer to you than he was before. You pointedly keep ignoring him, eyes fixed stubbornly on the machine. “You deaf or something?” he mocks, stepping up so you can see him in your peripheral vision. You say nothing, swinging your racket harder with each hit.

Patrick scoffs, stomping over to the machine and slamming his hand over the stop button. It makes a loud beeping sound, before shutting off completely. “Jesus Christ, you’re such a fucking baby.” you groan, throwing your head back in annoyance. When you finally turn to glare at him, you’re shocked at the state he’s in.

Patrick’s dressed in a tank and the almost too short shorts he’d usually wear to a match, and he’s dripping sweat. Curly black hair plastered to his forehead with it, his cheeks red and blotchy like he’d been in the sun. You raise your brow, looking at him with a confused expression on your face. “Where the hell did you even come from? How did you know I was here?” 

He walks back over to you, hands balled into fists by his side. “I was at a tournament in Mountain View,” he explains, jerking his head in the vague direction he came from, ”it was so close I thought it’d be wrong of me to not stop by and check up on you.”

You laugh, nodding your head lightly. “Okay, so you flunked out of another tournament and hunted me down like a creepy stalker to what? Yell at me some more? Call me a cunt again?” you step closer, lightly swishing your racket through the air dismissively. “I’m not fucking interested in whatever it is you have to say Patrick, we’re over.”

He smirks but you can see the way his jaw clenches, ticking in anger. “But you’re interested in what Art has to say?”

There it is. You really should have known it would all come back to this eventually.

You sigh, casting your eyes to the ceiling in exasperation. “What’s your point?”

Patrick takes a step closer. “My point is that you’re not fucking stupid, and Art can’t lie to save his goddamn life. You knew exactly what he was doing.” His tone is accusatory, his brows pinched together hard enough to crease his skin. 

Your heart beat picks up in your chest, anger beginning to bubble up inside you. “I didn’t need Art’s help to realize that you’re an arrogant piece of shit and a gigantic waste of my time, you made it easy enough to pick up on all by yourself.”

Patrick laughs, loud and abrasive. “No, you just didn’t care.” he states darkly, shaking his head back and forth a few times. You can feel a few drops of sweat fling from his hair to land on the bare skin of your shoulders as he does. “You’re so easy that you’d spread your legs from him to stroke your own ego. You’re only playing into his whole kicked puppy charade to justify acting like a fucking whore, ‘Poor Art, he’s so sad and pathetic, I’ll let him fuck my slutty pussy to help his raise his self esteem!’.” He mocks, voice pitched up in an exaggerated impression of you.

Your grip tightens on the handle of your racket, knuckles turning white with it. You feel hot all over, anger simmering under your sweaty skin. “You’re seriously trying to lecture me about egos? This has nothing to do with Art! This is about you being a bratty little rich boy who’s never been told ‘no’ before so you can’t handle rejection. It’s fucking embarrassing.”

Patrick nostrils flare, brows pinching together in anger. “Art has nothing to do with this, really? You’re delusional if you actually think that he’s just this saint among men or some shit. He’s not, he’s a fucking snake.”

“Trust me, Art doesn’t have to be a saint to be better than you.” you sneer, voice sharp and unwavering. Your hands are shaking, blind rage racking through your body like thunder. “The only redeeming quality you’ll ever have is dangling between your legs so you better get used to this, because sooner or later everyone will leave you once they see past all your bullshit and realize that you’re nothing more than a worthless loser.”

Patrick’s jaw works furiously, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. You think something like hurt flashes through his eyes, but only for a second. It's gone just as fast, replaced by a mocking smirk that stretches over his lips slowly. He crosses his arms in front of him, shamelessly raking his eyes over your body. You can practically see the gears turning in his head. 

“So who fucks better?” he asks bluntly, a bead of sweat dripping down the column of his throat and into the neck of his tank.

A shocked laugh bursts from your lips before you can stop it. “What?” you ask, arms dropping to your sides limply. The completely one-eighty of his mood sends your head reeling. 

Patrick takes another step closer, invading your personal space. “Who fucks better?” he repeats slowly, leaning down to meet your eye. “Me or Art? Don’t fucking lie to me and tell me that prissy farmer boy makes you come harder than I do.”

You laugh again, shaking your head in disbelief. “God, everything is always a dick measuring contest with you. It’s so pathetic like, seriously–”

“Answer the question.” Patrick demands, cutting you off sharply. He’s practically looming over you now, so close that you can smell him. That natural, manly, musky scent he always has after a game that drives you fucking crazy. 

It reminds you of when he’d come back to your dorm fresh off a match, still in the same clothes and not showered. Pumped full of adrenaline and so pent up, needing something to take his energy out on. You were always that something. He’d fuck your mouth like he’d fuck your pussy, like it was just another hole for him drain his balls into. You’d be face down in his crotch for what seemed like hours, right where his smell was the strongest. Forced to breathe it in so deeply you’d feel high off it, your brain turned to mush every time.

Heat swirls deep in your stomach, you haven’t been this close to Patrick in what seems like forever. You kind of forgot how much he affects you, especially like this. The sex was always better when you’d fight before.

“You’re a child.”

“You still haven’t answered the question.”

You huff, narrowing your eyes at him. There’s a sort of crazed look on his face, his pupils blown out and dark. It makes you pause, it’s the look you’d get right before he’d pounce on you. You’ve seen it enough times to know that something is different about it. He looks needier, more hungry. 

It has some of your anger subsiding, twisted amusement swiftly taking its place. If Patrick wants to ambush you like this, after weeks of radio silence, you might as well use it as a chance to fuck with him.

You smirk, cocking your head to the side slightly. “Art,” you say slowly, taking a small step towards Patrick, “is a better fuck than you ever were.”

Patrick pouts like an honest to God child, sticking out his bottom lip in indignation. “I told you not to lie–”

“I’m not lying,” you say innocently, voice dropping down to a whisper as you lean in even closer. You can see the freckles sprinkled across his nose and cheeks, darker than usual thanks to all the sun he’s been getting. “Last night he ate me out for hours, made me squirt all over his fucking tongue.” 

For the first time since you’ve met him, Patrick Zweig is shocked into silence. His eyes darken, you can’t even see the green anymore, the solid black of his pupils swallowing it entirely. “Bullshit,” he says quietly, clipped and skeptical. His breath fans hotly over your lips, it makes your spine start to tingle.

You smile sweetly, giving a small shrug of your shoulders. “I’ll send you the video.”

Patrick physically reels back, blinking slowly with the realization of what you just said. His lips barely part in surprise, pink and enticing. You revel in it, smirking at him smugly. His eyes flit across your face like he’s trying to figure out if you’re lying or not. You stare back at him unrelenting, all the proof you need is sitting in the video gallery of your pink motorola razr. 

Patrick swallows hard, you watch the way his adam’s apple bobs with it. He shifts his lower body subtly, but you’re too close to not notice it. Your eyes immediately dart down, and you’re almost giddy at what you find. 

He’s hard, the fabric of his shorts stretched over the length of his dick obscenely. You can see the faint outline of the tip pressing against the seam, a wet patch seeping through the gray material around it.

“Oh my god, you’re actually getting off on this!” you laugh wickedly, eyes glued to the lewd tent of his dick. “You’re calling me a whore when you’re the one getting wet just thinking about your best friend's mouth on my pussy. That’s fucking pathetic even for you, Ricky.”

Patrick is silent, breathing heavily through his nose as he stares you down so intensely you can almost feel the heavy weight of his eyes as they bore into you. 

It happens in less than a second, Patrick closing the distance between you and taking your arm in his strong hand so he can force you in the direction of the showers. His grip is tight on your bicep, fingers meanly digging into your skin and forcing you to walk with him. You put up a fight, kicking and scratching but he’s stronger than you. Not letting your slaps to his chest or nails sinking into his arm deter him from dragging you across the court. 

“Let me go asshole!” you snap, trying in vain to yank your arm out of his grip while you stumble over your own feet. “You’re such a fucking psycho!” Patrick ignores you, bursting into the men's showers and marching you into the first stall. He drags you inside, whirling you around to shove your back against the door of it roughly. It knocks the wind out of you for a second, the lock digs into your back hard enough to hurt.

“Art doesn’t have any fucking idea how to deal with a bitch like you.” he grates, fisting a handful of your harshly. “He’s too soft. Too busy letting you lead him around by his dick to try putting you in your fucking place.”

The sting of your scalp only adds to the warmth pulsing in your pussy, sticky arousal dripping wet in your panties. You meet his eyes, all the fire and want swirling in them mirror your own. “Art has a bigger dick than you bitch.” You spit, standing on your tiptoes to lessen the distance of him tugging on your hair. It’s a low blow, immature and basic but you don’t care.

Patrick just hum noncommittally, roughly hooking his fingers into your cheeks and dragging you forward until the tip of your nose is touching his. “Then your throat is still nice and stretched out for me.”

He drops his hands to your shoulders, forcing you onto your knees. You hit the ground with a heavy thud, a dull ache blooms in your knees at the force of it. “Fuck,” you hiss, pulling back instinctively but the hard plastic of the shower door pressing onto the back of your head keeps you pinned in place. Your hands fly up to his legs to try and push him away.

Patrick grips your hair tight, tipping your face up to look at him. You have a perfect view of him pushing his shorts down, letting his hard dick slip out as the fabric stretches taught across his thick thighs. “Open your mouth,” he demands, yanking your head to the side meanly.

“Fuck you,” you snarl, teeth bared in anger as you fight to stand up. Patrick’s strong hand on your shoulder keeps you down while the other starts to idly stroke his dick. He’s just as big as you remember, thick and hard only a few inches away from your face.

The tip all red and weepy when he pulls his foreskin back on each tug, a thick vein running up the side that you want to trace with your tongue.

“Don’t be like that, baby,” he coos softly, rubbing his leaking tip across your bottom lip a couple times, smearing his pre-come around your mouth like lip gloss. “We both know you love it.”

He’s so cocky, so sure of himself that you want to keep denying him. But he’s also right, you can feel your resolve slowly start to crack when he pushes the head between your parted lips. The familiar heady taste of him oozing onto your tongue has you sighing contently, jaw relaxing the tiniest bit almost like a reflex.

The second you give Patrick an inch and he’ll take a mile. 

“There we go,” he mutters sweetly, pulling back slightly and then thrusting forward until your nose is buried in the short curls at the base. 

Your whole body tenses, throat constricting over the length of his dick as your fist his shorts in your hands. As quickly as he thrust in, he pulls out, letting you sharply gasp for air before it’s back and pressing insistently on your tongue. You let him in, forcing your throat to relax as he slides forward to press his hips into your face.

“You’re such a fucking brat,” he bites out, thrusting down your throat roughly. “Pussy’s so greedy it jumped on the next dick that perked up around it.”

You could only whine around Patrick’s dick, mouth too full to do anything but try and work your tongue over the throbbing length of him.

Your throat burns, spit flowing down your chin messily along with his pre-come still steadily leaking from the hot tip of his dick.

His big hands have an iron grip on either side of your head, his balls slap against your chin as he thrusts over and over and over. The back of your skull throbs, knocking into the stall with each pump of his hips.

“Fuck,” he groans, dropping his forehead down to the stall with a small thunk. “You look so good like this,” he breathes, looking down at you through half-lidded eyes, “so fucking pretty with my dick down your throat to shut you up.”

Your pussy aches, so empty that you want to shove your hand down your shorts and stuff yourself full of your own fingers to dull the need. Your thighs glide together slickly, the wetness of your arousal soaking through your clothes.

It gets harder to breathe. Your choked off, spluttering gags start loudly echoing off the tile walls. Your hand slaps Patrick’s thigh a few times, he thrusts hard once more before he finally pulls back, smearing spit all over your tongue and out of your mouth.

“God, that was good baby.” he praises, slapping his dick against your right cheek lewdly. “As much as I want to pump this load down your throat,” he says casually, stroking his spit slick dick lazily, ”I want it in your pussy more.”

“I fucking hate you,” you growl weakly, voice absolutley wrecked. The tears sitting in your waterline blur your vision, you blink them away to see Patrick’s smug smile beaming down at you. 

“Then tell me to stop,” he shrugs, tilting his head to the side condescendingly. You glare up at him, but you don’t say anything. He snorts, brow raising in amusement. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” 

He shoves his shorts the rest of the way down, stepping out of them and hauling you up to your feet. You’re still desperately trying to catch your breath, chest heaving as you cough and gasp.

Patrick rips your shirt over your head, flinging it over the stall along with his own. He turns you by your shoulder, pushing you against the wall as he yanks the shower handle to start the stream.

Water rains down around you, shockingly cold for a few seconds before it finally starts to warm up. Patrick makes quick work of your shorts and panties, yanking them down your legs and off your feet, tossing them in the corner of the stall with a wet thwack.

He kicks your feet further apart, one hand on your shoulder and the other lining his hard dick up with your tight hole, letting the leaking tip press into you with the smallest amount of pressure.

“I know you missed my dick, slut,” he says, bringing his hand down on your ass quickly, kneading the stinging skin roughly. “Art could be the best fuck in the world, he still can’t give it to you like I can.” He pops the head in, groaning quietly before he bullies his thick dick the rest of the way into you.

Your hole shakes around him. Patick is right. Patrick is always right, but you’d never tell him that. You wanted this. You missed this. The burn of Patrick’s dick forcing you open, stretching you so wide your toes curl. Him not giving you even a second to react before he’s pulling back and pounding into you brutally.

You cry out, eyes screwing shut at the sharp sting. You can tell through the haze of you brain that this won’t take long at all, the both of you already so worked up from Patrick fucking your throat. His right hand drops from your shoulder to your hip while his left slides up your torso, sliding along your skin to wrap around the column of your throat firmly. You keen loudly, throwing your head back to give him more room.

“I taught him how to use that fucking dick,” he goads into your ear, grip tightening on your throat. “Did he tell you about that? Huh?” He takes your earlobe between your teeth, biting hard enough to make you squeal into the wall.

The tile digs into your cheek, roughly scraping against your skin every time Patrick fucks back into you. 

You’re hovering over the edge, pussy throbbing with the burning need to come. Your clit pulses, swollen and sensitive but you can’t find the strength to drop your down hand between your thighs.

They’re too busy scrambling for any kind of purchase on the slippery wall of the shower, manicured nails scratching against the tile uselessly.

You gasp for air, fighting to speak up under the intense pressure of his hand, “I could tell,” you choke out, barely audible, “you both fuck like you have something to prove.”

“You think?” he sneers, thrusting harder, your ass stinging each time he slams his hips into you. “Maybe that’s because we do. Maybe that’s because we both like seeing you fucking fall apart like this, seeing you beg for it after you finally stop being a little pissy bitch.” 

Your breath hitches as his other hand drops from your hip, delving between your thighs to slide the calloused pads of his fingertips over your swollen clit.

You moan, thighs clenching together as he rubs fast circles over you. “You like that, don’t you? Being used like a fucking toy.” His hand squeezes just a bit tighter. “Say it. Tell me you love being our little slut.”

The words spill out of your mouth before you can stop them, a mix of desperation and raw honesty, “I love it,” you cry out as loud as you can, “I love being your slut.”

“God, you sound just like him,” Patrick chuckles into your ear, low and sinister. His hold on your throat tightens, cutting off your air entirely. You sputter, hand coming up to clutch his wrist like a vice. Your pulse thunders, hard enough that he can probably feel it against his palm. “Who do you think made him come harder?”

The image alone of Patrick and Art like that sends you flying to the edge. “Ah— Patrick! ” you moan, voice hoarse and strained, “Pat, I’m gonna— fuck—“

“Do it,” he goads, sliding his hand from your clit down to where your pussy is spread open on him. He pushes his thick index finger right up next to his pulsing dick, hooking it inside or you and stretching you that much wider. “Come on my fucking dick like the greedy whore you are.”

You let out a sharp cry as your forehead hits the wall, thighs shaking violently as Patrick’s hips become relentless. Your whole body tensing up as you come so hard your vision blacks out.

You think you’re screaming, but it’s hard to hear anything over the white noise buzzing in your ears. Patrick’s hips don’t stop, fucking your abused pussy into overstimulation as he chases his own orgasm.

His hand drops from your throat to dig into your hip to put more power behind his thrusts. You’re immediately gasping for air, taking in greedy lungfuls of it.

Patrick’s chest is plastered to your back, face buried in your neck as he rambles out more nonsensical obscenities. His dick pulses and twitches in your pussy, so close to filling you up.

An idea pierces through the fog of your brain, an idea so fucking filthy it has your pussy clenching weakly.

You think back to the first night Art fucked you, how he almost came all over Patrick’s pants just because they were his, just because you said his name. How worked up and hard Patrick got when you started talking about Art. 

“When he fucked me for the first time, I was wearing your sweats, the green ones,” your voice is scratchy and quiet, barely audible over the shower’s spray, “he noticed.”

“Fuck– fuck you,” he grates out, hips faltering ever so slightly. “God, gonna come,” his hold on your hip tightens, strong enough that it’ll be sure to bruise.

You keep talking, spurred on by his reaction. “He almost came right there, he wasn’t even inside me yet, just rubbed his dick all over them like he could fucking feel you.”

Patrick gives one final slam of his hips, burying himself as deep as he can in your pussy. His low groans and curses fill the room as he unloads into you, pumping you so full of his come that you can feel each hot splash of it painting the walls of your pussy. 

He slumps down against you, hips twitching as he works through the aftershocks. You can feel his breath puff over the shell of your ear. 

You and Patrick say nothing for a long few minutes, running water the only thing to keep the room from being completely silent. Patrick is still pressed to your back, his chest heaves against your shoulders. You think you’d collapse if his hands weren’t still on your hips, practically holding you up.

You’re the one to break the silence, voice low and wrecked, “Art lasts so much longer than that…”

Patrick snorts against your back. “Fuck you.” he says, biting your shoulder hard and pulling his dick out of you in one swift move. You gasp sharply as his come floods from your puffy, wrecked hole. Thick streams of it dripping down your thighs until the water washes it away to swirl down the drain. 

You turn on unsteady legs, hair plastered to your face with water. Patrick is right there, knees knocking against yours as he shifts the two of you closer to the spray. He looks like a marble statue, water dripping down the tip of his nose and between the hard planes of his abs.

He grins smugly down at you, “I’m staying at a hotel close to campus, unblock my number and I’ll send you my room number,” he wagers, hands sliding up and down the wet skin of your back. “I think you, Art, and I have something we need to work out.”

“Yeah,” you agree, nodding your head with a small grin. “I think we do”

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

[wasabi-gumdrop]

neon glory squad 💖

[lewkwoodnco]

a week in the life of London's youngest agency head (insp.)

[me-writes-prompts]

:-"I sense some tension...and not the friends type." Friends to lovers prompts-:

(Y'alllll I could not help myself. I had to do more!!! Hehehe. Tag me if you guys write any of these :)

The 'just friends' kiss that they have to do as a dare but they both like it and can't stop thinking about it 👀

^^ "I mean, I kinda liked it, I guess..." but then they see their friend's smug face and cough, "I didn't mean it that way!" "Uh huh."

"You know...for someone who says they like me just as a friend, you sure do blush a lot in my presence. What's up with that?"

Going on DATES without realizing that they're doing couple-y things and someone casually commenting they're a cute couple (hehehe)

^^ "We are not a couple. I swear-" "Yeah, never. They're not even my type." "Yeah, same here." (sureeeee mhmm)

Hugs lasting a little longer than usual, and it gets all awkward because they are waiting for the other one to pull away, but neither of them wants to.

Always being extra affectionate with them(i.e. complimenting, playfully teasing, etc)

Communicating using only their eyes(AHHHH)

Pillow fights turning into tackling fights into blushing messes

^^ "It's not fair though! You never let me tickle you! :(" "You have to get close to me to do that." They say with a teasing lick of their lips and a grin. "I- shut up!"

Borrowing their clothes and never returning it just so you can be warm and cozy in them and feel like it's their arms wrapped around you>>>>>

Calling them the first thing when they have a bad day, because they know seeing the other will make it so much better

^^"Hard day?" They ask with a gentle smile when they come in. "Yeah." And that's all they need before they have a cuddle session with both of their favorite movie playing and them just snuggled up :'((((

"You look at them like they hung the stars." A silence. "They did so much then that, and I can't ever be grateful enough, even if I wished to." (angsttttyyy)

*Confessing* "I...I love you. I don't know if it's okay to fall in love with your best friend, but I love you. And it's fine, if you don't love me back, because loving you has been the easiest thing I've ever done, and I'd never stop loving you even if you didn't love me back." "You know what? It is okay to love your best friend, because that's what I've done as well. And I would've never know that you also love me, if you never said it. So let me say this, I love you too." (I am deceased, did i just wrote that?)

Cue the long, slow kiss and the tears that run down their cheeks while doing so. And they lived happily ever after!