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#I’ve just not got around to reading the book

egcdeath · 2 days

Text

life's a beach

pairing: patrick zweig x reader request: @diorrfairy: i can't stop thinking about patrick x reader who's an introvert, kinda shy but with a fiery temper just like him. and she knows it's better not to get involved with guys like him but she can't help it. and he's constantly teasing her trying to get on her nerves like … summary: a chain smoking tennis player disrupts your day on the beach and uproots your entire summer vacation. word count: 6.5k warnings: enemies to lovers (kinda… the reader folds like a paper airplane pretty quickly), smoking, no use of y/n, low speed police (pool security guard) chase, mentions of smoking, brief mention of alcohol, so much exposition, vague descriptions of sports, some kissing, patrick and reader are spoiled rich kids author’s note: this fic definitely got away from me, but i hope that you all enjoy it! also, i apologize in advance for any characterization issues, since i’ve only seen the movie once. with that being said, i’m still taking requests if you want to send me anything!

For all your life, the beach has been your happy place. The soothing, repetitive push and pull of the water and the endless crashing of the tide was a guaranteed way to make your loud mind quiet down. Next to the endless ocean, you were just a tiny little dot–not a girl who was a golf prodigy, or someone whose parents' financial power caused everyone around you to treat you like a delicate doll. In fact, that was part of the reason why your parents purchased the lot in the first place, as you insisted that the comfort of a semi-private beach was necessary for you to properly enjoy your vacation.

That was also what made your smoking companion on the beach all the more jarring.

You were fully reclined on a beach chair and deeply immersed in the novel in your hands when you first caught a whiff of the strong, putrid scent, which immediately left you annoyed. Turning your head to follow the scent, your face somehow fell further when it fell upon the culprit of the foul cigarette smell. The side profile of a man who was about your age, casually smoking as he stared out at the body of water across from you.

Perhaps you had become so immersed in your book that you’d failed to realize that only a few steps away from you, someone new had joined you on the sand. After all, when you sat down just an hour ago, you were completely alone. Somehow, that managed to make your mood sour even more. There was all this space on the beach, yet this man decided to sit down right next to you and smoke a cigarette!

You were sure that you were gawking at him at this point, if at nothing else, his sheer audacity. When he finally seemed to sense your seething gaze, you quickly looked back at your book as if it was the most interesting thing in the world—despite you completely losing your spot.

After a moment of pretending to resume your reading, the stale scent of the cigarette had lessened, indicating to you that the man next to you had finally stopped. Good. Maybe your simple glare had been more effective than you realized.

But nearly as soon as a self-satisfied smirk could find itself on your face, the scent returned in full force. You practically had to physically restrain yourself from uttering, “Seriously?” aloud.

Seeing as your first passive aggressive attempt at getting him to stop was futile, you decided to pull out the big guns.

With your all but abandoned novel in hand, you curled your unoccupied arm around your mouth and began to cough profusely. You put all your might into pulling out the most atrocious sounds you could muster from your lungs, and when you decided you were satisfied with this passive aggressive approach, you glanced over at your beach companion, only to find him looking back at you.

With him looking straight at you, you felt your stomach trip over itself. You’d always been a sucker for pretty men, and with one pointed look, you were sure that this would be no different. Yet, armed with the knowledge that you were the one who started this, you willed yourself not to give in to someone with good looks and cigarette breath.

You continued to stare him down, hoping that you were coming off as intimidating, rather than swooning. Though, the longer the two of you glared at each other, you swore you could see his lips mold into the look of a smirk, particularly as he took a pointedly long drag from his cigarette.

It quickly became abundantly clear to you that he wasn’t interpreting your gaze to be anything near threatening—if anything, he saw it as a challenge. Unluckily for him, you were incapable of backing down to a challenge.

As soon as you opened your mouth to form some sort of sassy remark, you were surprisingly beaten to the punch.

“Want one?” he asked, the smirk unwavering on his stupidly attractive face.

“Ew,” you replied, then immediately regretted it. Seriously? Ew? That was the best that you could do? You would think that years of dodging and delivering verbal daggers over family dinner would’ve better prepared you for this moment, but leave it to you to be tripped up by a pretty face.

You paused for a beat too long before retorting, “You can keep your lung disease, thank you very much.” You readjusted the book in your lap, still not feeling completely satisfied with your reply, but anything was better than your first statement. “Maybe go smoke somewhere that’s not right next to me, like,” you paused to gesture to the widely empty beach. “Literally anywhere else.”

“I didn’t realize that you were queen of this strip of beach. My apologies, Your Highness,” he shot back snarkily. You swore you could feel your blood boiling as it pumped through your veins.

“I’m not saying you can’t stay here,” you could feel your volume increasing as more adrenaline pumped through you, “I’m just asking that you don’t smoke.”

You watched as his brows raised questioningly the longer you spoke. “Or at least, don’t smoke next to me,” you clarified, folding under the pressure of a set of rather piercing blue eyes.

“Fine,” he agreed with a shrug, to your surprise. That hadn’t been so hard after all. Maybe he wasn’t all that bad. You bit back the part of you that wanted to feel triumphant at your clear victory over this random, pain-in-the-ass man.

Once more, you pretended to read your book while in your peripheral vision you watched him grab his few items, including his box of cigarettes, and stand up to move. What you weren’t expecting to see was him plant himself just a few feet further from you, sit down, then begin to aggressively tap his box of cigarettes, just loud enough to grab your attention. Naively believing that he wouldn’t actually have the audacity to begin smoking again, you were slightly scandalized when he pulled a stick out and returned to happily chain smoking.

He briefly glanced back over at you, the smug look on his face telling you that he was eagerly awaiting your reaction. As much as you didn’t want to humor him, you clearly couldn’t hide your annoyance.

“Oh my god,” you huffed, grabbing your tote bag and towel and standing up to head back towards your beach house. Maybe the beach just wasn’t in the cards for today. At least that man couldn’t bother you in your sunroom.

——————

One of the benefits of owning and spending your summer at your vacation home was being able to have your friends stop by and spend a few days with you. Seeing as your parents were utterly uninterested in spending any of your summer break together, it was also nice that you were basically able to do whatever you wanted over the summer.

As a teenager, this mainly meant parties and intense summer flings, but as your time in college began to mature you and your friends, the novelty of doing something you weren’t supposed to be doing began to wear off. What never seemed to wear off was your love for the local ice cream shop, with its sweet dairy scent lingering in the air and a waffle cone that was nothing short of to die for.

With one of your friends’ visits coming to an end, the two of you sat on the patio of this shop, racing against time and heat as you worked on your cones. In between gossip about which one of your classmates had to attend graduation with a baby bump, you caught your eye on someone exiting the shop to join you on the patio.

You practically had to hold back your groan as you processed who it was. Unfortunately, your enemy from the beach hadn’t felt nearly enough shame, and he openly waved at you.

Upon seeing your eyes wander, your friend turned around to see what it was that caught your eye. Just as quickly as she turned around to view the asshole, she turned right back to you with a newfound excitement.

“Oh my god, you know him?” your friend asked you, shock and elation written all over her face for a reason you couldn’t understand.

“Unfortunately,” you replied, taking a bite of a bit of exposed cone. “Do you know him? Did he go to your high school or something?”

She scoffed at your words as if you were missing the most obvious point in the world. “‘Did he go to my high school or something?’” she repeated in disbelief. “That’s Patrick Zweig. He’s about to go pro.”

You tilted your head and furrowed your brows, as if to ask for more context.

“In tennis? He’s like, the thing right now,” she explained.

“Maybe that’s why he’s such an asshole,” you glanced back over at him, only to find that he was unabashedly staring at you as he licked his own cone of ice cream. If you hadn’t had such a ridiculous encounter a week ago, you would’ve thought that he was being suggestive towards you.

“What happened that made him such an asshole?” she prodded, and you swore that she leaned forward as she asked.

“Please try to look a little less excited,” you laughed, entertained by your friend’s investment in your story about someone who was a celebrity in her eyes.

“Sorry,” she apologized disingenuously. “Go ahead.”

“Well, I was just trying to do some reading out on the beach, when he sat like, two feet away from me. Mind you, the entire beach was empty. He could’ve gone anywhere else.”

“Dick,” she interjected, though the unsubtle glance over in Patrick’s direction and her overzealous body language suggested to you that she might’ve meant the words less than she thought she did.

“Right,” you agreed. “But that clearly wasn’t enough. So he starts chain smoking. Right next to me.”

“Rude,” she added, doing her best to validate you as you told the story. Her ability to only add commentary in a monosyllabic manner was entertaining you, but you couldn’t focus too much on that now.

“So I called him out. I was like, ‘Hey, you dick. I know that you want black lung, but not everyone else does,’” you explained, embellishing your story to disguise your lackluster responses.

She giggled as you explained and you continued on. “Obviously, he was embarrassed that I called him out. So he looks me right in the eyes, and-“

“And what?” she asked, her eyes practically glimmering, as if you were about to tell her a story about some wild tryst that left you with a negative impression of him.

“Babe, I don’t think this story ends the way you think it does.”

“We’ll see,” she said with a shrug and a wink.

“Well, he got his ass up and started walking away. Internally, I’m celebrating. But then, he sits down pretty close to me… and starts smoking again. And he’s staring me down the whole time he does it.”

“Ugh! He is an asshole,” she shook her head as you wrapped up your story. “But like, isn’t he kinda…?”

“He could be the sexiest man alive and couldn’t seduce me with that personality,” you replied confidently, although you weren’t completely sure of your words.

“That’s certainly not stopping him from trying,” she glanced over her shoulder once more, where he was still looking at you while very intently eating his ice cream cone.

“Gross,” you replied, feigning a full-body shudder. “You couldn’t even pay me to go anywhere near him.”

“It’s probably for the best anyway. A friend of my friend said there was some super messy relationship drama with him recently.”

“Lovely,” you replied, trying your best to look and sound disinterested, but feeling curious regardless. “I feel bad for whoever has to spend any extended period of time with him,” you popped the bottom of your ice cream cone into your mouth, then crushed a paper towel in your hand. “Wanna head out?”

——————

After that, you truly tried your best to avoid Patrick. Like clockwork, he seemed to appear on the beach in your backyard during the late afternoon. You weren’t ashamed to admit that you had watched him through the windows of your bedroom more than a handful of times, and you could almost swear that his head was on a swivel, as if he were looking for someone before he settled into his spot.

Unfortunately for you, it felt like he seemed to pop up wherever you were. As you evaluated boxes of strawberries at the grocery store, you noticed him eyeing bunches of bananas not all that far away from you. Midway through a hike, you noticed a familiar set of distractingly muscular thighs and tried your best to hide, much to your friend’s confusion. While drinking a fruity cocktail at a bar, you noticed him and finished off your drink and threw down a bill at record speed.

You guessed that you never realized how small a town was until you were actively attempting to avoid someone. In a way, it was a little bit exciting to be dodging him so vehemently, though you’d never really admit that to yourself. At least, it was exciting until it became an utter annoyance, much like it was becoming at that very moment.

After you’d decided that you’d spent enough of your summer lounging around without practicing any golf, you decided to take it upon yourself to head to your local country club and take on the familiar course. Of course, you couldn’t play any golf without fueling up first, which left you in the restaurant of the club snacking on a cup of fries when you spotted the one person you had been trying desperately to dodge.

You averted your gaze down to your phone and acted as if you were reading the most interesting thing in the world, but not even that farce lasted long, as you were met with the sound of a chair scratching the floor across from you. You looked back up and were met with Patrick’s intense, searing stare.

“Are you following me, or something?” he asked, his brows furrowed at you as he looked at you with concern.

“What?!” you asked with disbelief. “You’re the one who keeps showing up around me and keeps licking ice cream seductively at me!”

“Seductively?” he laughed right in your face, and you could feel your face immediately warm up in embarrassment.

“Shut up,” you replied weakly, though you knew what you saw. “Who even are you?” you asked, despite now having the displeasure of knowing exactly who he was, thanks to your friend and a Google search.

He began to smirk, and it took everything in you to not want to wipe that smug smile right off of his face. “I’m Patrick, and you are?”

You introduced yourself while mentally berating yourself for the butterflies erupting in your stomach over his intent gaze. Unfortunately, Patrick was even better looking than you could’ve imagined up close, with sunkissed skin and freckles that seemed to go on for miles.

“Well if you’re not stalking me, what are you doing here?” he questioned, though it was clear from his crooked, goofy smile that he wasn’t being serious.

“I play golf,” you explained with a casual shrug, though the feelings you were having inside were far from casual. “So I’m here to do that. You?”

“I knew I’d heard that name before,” Patrick began before stealing a french fry from you and popping it into his mouth. “You won a championship recently?”

You nodded with what you hoped was a neutral expression on your face, hoping to brush him off despite the fireworks going off in your stomach and the heat returning to your face. Sure, it wasn’t the first time someone had recognized you for your accomplishments out on the golf course, but it felt different coming from him.

“I did,” you replied as casually as possible, not acknowledging his fry thievery or reciprocating your knowledge of his athletic achievements. It was always better to be more mysterious with the type of person who seemed to love the chase, and it seemed clear to you that Patrick was one of those people. “Anyway, I need to go practice so I can win the next championship.”

You pushed your unfinished dish of fries towards him and stood up before grabbing the golf bag propped up next to your feet. You pushed your chair in and didn’t even spare him a glance back in his direction as you walked away, secretly hoping to yourself that he was still watching you as intensely as he’d been watching you at the table.

You tried your hardest not to ruminate over your conversation and feelings too much, but as you walked out to the first hole, you couldn’t help but over analyze everything. The first and most confusing of which being your feelings towards Patrick. Clearly, you were attracted to him. Despite your terrible first impressions of each other and having what could arguably be described as a meet-ugly, you couldn’t pretend like his good looks and charming, yet cocky demeanor didn’t have an effect on you. It was clear from the way that the butterflies in your stomach decided to stop lying dormant every time he was in your vicinity.

What you still couldn’t quite place were his feelings towards you. It was obvious that he was getting some kick out of teasing you. Hell, it was obvious from the first interaction you had with him. And it seemed like he might be interested in you, based on the way he seemed to be magnetically drawn to you, and his less than appropriate treatment of his ice cream cone, which he could deny all he wanted, was definitely a shoddy attempt at flirting. Even your friend had noticed.

Just as you began to try to make sense of your previous interaction, you looked up to find a golf cart headed your way. The cart was manned by none other than the subject of your deep thoughts, and as Patrick got closer to you, you swore you could see a fiery excitement ignited in his body.

“Play with me?” Patrick asked once he parked, despite already being off the vehicle and reaching for his rented golf bag.

You paused for a moment, as if you were considering his proposition, despite you already knowing your answer. “As long as you don’t mind getting your ass whooped.”

You made sure to deliver on this promise, beating Patrick with ease. In a way, it felt like comeuppance for him being a nuisance towards you just a few weeks ago. But that didn’t mean your mini tournament was without its downsides for you. You tried desperately to fight the urge to giggle like a schoolgirl when he said something stupid and snarky, and to quiet your screaming brain during the many, many, times you corrected his stance.

What you were also surprised to find was that Patrick wasn’t all that terrible of company to keep. He seemed to know exactly what to say to make you laugh, despite your effort to be unimpressed with him, or how to throw you off right before you swung at a ball. More than once, you had to remind him that no amount of teasing would change the fact that he had a terrible score, but it certainly didn’t stop him from trying.

With your landslide victory clear and your game over, the two of you made your way back to the rental station.

“You definitely cheated,” Patrick commented as he put his equipment back.

“You’re such a sore loser,” you replied with a roll of your eyes and a laugh. You’d been doing a lot of eye rolling and laughing while playing golf with him, and it was oddly quite pleasant.

“I’m not!” he insisted, turning back to face you as if that would somehow prove his point.

“You are, though! You’re a dirty player, too. I don’t think anyone has ever come up behind me and yelled for me to focus before.”

“Whatever,” he dismissed you casually, “You would be eating your words right now if we were playing tennis.”

“Yeah?” you questioned with raised brows.

“Yeah,” he parroted back, taking a step towards you and locking that intense gaze on you once more.

Feeling bold, you matched his step forward, practically getting in his face. “Fine then. Let’s play.”

“Really?” he sounded shocked by your proposition, and looked utterly unintimidated by the fact that your faces were practically touching.

“Sure. There are some courts over by the pool,” you turned to look in the direction of the pool, taking that as an opportunity to step away from him. You feared what you might do if you stayed that close to him for any longer than you needed to. “Isn’t that what you came here to do anyway?”

“So you are stalking me?” he joked, referencing your earlier conversation.

You rolled your eyes once more. At this rate, your eyes were going to be stuck at the back of your head. “Do you want to play or not?”

If you were a beast on the golf course, Patrick was a sight to behold on the tennis court. The brief article you read online simply did not do the man across from you justice as he served balls at you that probably would have wiped your head clean off of your body if you had any slower reflexes.

While you were able to get a few good hits in, courtesy of the lessons your parents put you in before they realized that golf was your calling, none of them remotely compared to the man across the court.

But your embarrassing loss was rewarded by hearing the repetitive loop of grunts and groans from your competitor. It was somewhat of a miracle that you were able to keep it together without bursting out laughing or squeezing your thighs together. You were also handsomely rewarded by seeing those muscular thighs in action. To be completely frank, there were more than a few moments where you lost momentum due to distraction from Patrick’s good looks.

While Patrick had proved himself to be a sore loser while playing golf, he wasn’t a terrible winner. He only gloated about crushing you once the two of you had finished playing, but he did happen to revel in his win for the entire walk from the tennis courts to the locker rooms.

Surprisingly, you weren’t that annoyed by him. In fact, you were pretty sure that you were hovering around the feeling of endearment.

You sat out in the lobby, freshly showered and playing on your phone when a familiar presence joined you once more.

“Are you hungry?” Patrick asked you as he made himself right at home and sat down across from you.

Was he about to ask you out on a date?

“I could eat,” you replied, trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach once more.

“Let’s get dinner, then,” he suggested, and you tried your best not to look too excited. He was asking you out on a date. What an unexpected turn of events.

“Sure. There’s a place just up the street if you want to walk?”

The diner was slightly further than you remembered it being, but the time passed by quickly as the two of you divulged stories of your sports accomplishments on your trek over. Over dinner, the two of you instantly bonded over a similar upbringing of wealthy parents who couldn’t really be bothered to raise you, and backgrounds in boarding schools that prioritized your athletic skills over anything else.

After spending way too long at your booth and working through a spread of food that would send a shiver down your coaches’ spines, your waiter finally stopped by your table with an exhausted look on their face.

“One check or two?” they asked you.

“One,” Patrick replied before you had the chance to pipe up. The waiter turned around without inquiring anything more, clearly tired of having to serve the two of you.

“Wow,” you said with a giggle. “Chivalry is not dead.”

“I’m single-handedly keeping it alive,” he joked right along with you.

Feeling emboldened by your day of camaraderie and teasing each other, you decided to ask something. “Does that make this count as a date, then?” you asked it as a joke, though you were genuinely curious about the answer. While you’d previously found yourself intrigued with his looks, you’d now learned that he was far more than that. It was safe to say that you’d developed a full-blown crush over the span of the day.

“Do you want it to count as one?” he asked almost earnestly, and despite the fact that you were sitting, you swore you felt your knees go weak.

You shrugged nonchalantly, but the grin on your face was anything but. Fortunately, he was wearing a matching grin, and you almost swore there was a dusting of pink on his cheeks. You buckled under his gaze, and looked down into your nearly empty cup of water. “Sure.”

“Then it’s a date,” he confirmed.

“It’s so hot,” you huffed as the two of you stepped outside and into the humid night.

“Wanna cool off at the pool?” he suggested after holding the door open for you.

“Wow, you just don’t want this date to end, huh?” you teased. “The pool is definitely closed by now.”

“So?” he replied.

“So you want to break in?”

“Why not?” he shot back.

You stared at him for a moment with a mostly blank expression.

“You’re such a bad influence. Let’s go,” you conceded, heading in the direction of the city’s pool.

Once the two of you arrived at the locked gate, you stood expectantly, waiting for the next part of Patrick’s plan. You didn’t have to wait for too long, as with a brief confirmation that you were ready, he hoisted you up and over the fence. You then watched as he flung his own body over the fence, and you bit your lip as you attempted to distract yourself from how that image made you feel.

With both of you on the correct side of the fence, you took it upon yourself to shuck off your clothes—save for your underwear–before you dipped your toe in the cold water.

“How’s the water?” Patrick asked as he approached you, taking his shirt and shorts off in the process. You tried your best not to ogle too much, but his six-pack was definitely staring at you. Yeah, you were definitely ogling, and he was definitely noticing.

“You tell me,” you replied, then pushed him into the pool without really thinking. You probably wouldn’t have done it if you hadn’t just been caught looking at the man like he was a piece of meat, but you had been doing exactly that, and panicked.

After a moment, he resurfaced and spat out the water that he’d swallowed from your surprise movement. Yet, as he came back to the surface, he didn’t say anything to you.

You eyed him nervously while he began to approach you in the water, and you opened up your mouth to apologize just as you felt a hand wrap around your ankle. With a yelp, you were dragged down into the water, luckily dodging the ledge on your way down.

Coming back up, spat out the chlorinated water and coughed out what you’d swallowed. “I deserved that.”

“You definitely did,” he agreed, lightly splashing you with water from where he stood.

You splashed him right back, putting a little more effort in and splashing him with slightly more force. “But you also deserved that.”

“And why is that?” that overconfident look appeared on his face once more. Just twenty-four hours ago, if you’d seen that look, you’d probably want to knock it right off of him. Now, you were tempted to keep prodding.

“Because you were being a dick about smoking not that long ago,” you replied, getting a little closer to him and matching his look with your own confident gaze.

“Huh,” he hummed. “Fair enough.”

“So why’d you do it?”

“Who knows. Maybe I just really wanted a smoke. Maybe I wanted to catch the attention of the cute girl on the beach.”

“Shut up,” you replied with clear disbelief. “I like how you try to flatter your way out of every sticky situation.”

“I mean it.”

“So you thought annoying me was the best way to get my attention?”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

You couldn’t argue with that.

“What if I was allergic to cigarette smoke?”

“You weren’t.”

“What if I just didn’t react, then?”

“You did,” he said.

“Must’ve been fate,” you replied dryly.

“Must’ve,” he agreed earnestly. Immediately, you felt a tension in your chest, and you wondered if he felt the same way. You didn’t have a witty or sarcastic comeback, and his face was dangerously close to yours.

Unsure of what to do, you splashed him once more.

“What was that one for?”

For making me fall for you in the span of a day, you idiot.

You shrugged, unable to come up with a coherent answer with you realizing just how physically close the two of you were. Now that you were beginning to have a bit of clarity, you could hear the pounding of your heartbeat in your eardrums. Or maybe it was Patrick’s. With your bodies this close to each other, you couldn’t be too sure.

You wondered what was going through his mind, but if the quick glance to your lips and the bob of his Adam’s apple as he gulped was any indication of his thoughts, you were sure you were on the same page.

You found yourself in somewhat of a standoff as the two of you stood there, wordless and hearts pounding as you stood together in a freezing cold pool. You shut your eyes for a moment, and when you opened them, Patrick’s nose was practically pressing against yours. But just as you began to follow his lead, you were met with a blindingly bright flashlight.

“Hey!” a new voice yelled out, pulling the two of you out of your trance. “What’s going on here?”

Patrick’s eyes widened and you were sure yours did too.

“Shit, security,” you muttered to yourself as it occurred to you what was happening. The two of you immediately scurried to the side of the pool. “I don’t think they saw us, but they definitely heard us,” you whispered.

“Do you think you could outrun them?” he asked, matching your low tone as the light of the flashlight moved across the pool without

“What?”

“Come on,” he hoisted himself out of the pool and you did the same, trying your best to be quiet as the two of you grabbed your discarded clothes.

“Patrick…” you trailed off, glued to his side.

“Come on,” he repeated as he shepherded you to the fence. “I won’t let them get you. Now,” he gestured for you to come over so he could help you climb over again, and you did. As he climbed over, the security guard’s flashlight had finally caught up with the two of you.

“Hey!” the guard repeated, lunging in your direction just as Patrick made it over.

“Run!” you yelled at him as the two of you took off. All of that tennis training clearly paid off, as he was far faster than both you and the security guard.

“Get back here!” the guard shouted as he chased the two of you.

The two of you sprinted, your bare feet screaming at you as pebbles and sticks poked your soles. Running on pure adrenaline, you swore you could hear Patrick laughing as he ran ahead of you.

The two of you ended up by his car, parked safely at the country club. You desperately tried to catch your breath as you leaned against his car door, now completely sure that you’d lost the security guard who was chasing you.

“I hate you so much,” you got out in between panting heavily.

“No you don’t,” his chest rose and fell quickly as he corrected you.

“No I don’t,” you confirmed, taking satisfaction in hearing his heavy breaths next to you and knowing that you weren’t the only one affected by the chase.

It felt as if the two of you had been transported right back into the moment you were having in the pool, a heavy, undeniable tension settling over the two of you, with the adrenaline of the chase and your hearts still rapidly pumping blood from all that running. It was almost as if one second you were standing next to each other, and the next you were pinned up against his car door, kissing like your lives depended on it.

With one of his hands up your shirt, you somehow found the willpower to use the logical part of your brain. “Wait, stop,” you reluctantly said as you pulled away for air. “I don’t want another security guard chasing us.”

“They won’t,” Patrick insisted before leaning back in to kiss you.

“They will,” you disagreed, exerting all of your willpower to dodge his advance. “Take me home?”

Patrick’s hand sat securely on your thigh for the entire ride back to the beach house. With the tension between the two of you crackling and the excitement of successfully running away beginning to die down, the two of you were mostly quiet on your way over.

After he pulled into your driveway, he looked over at you with hesitance. If you didn’t know any better, you might even say that he looked a little nervous.

“Wanna come inside?” you broke the ice, knowing that was what he was surely thinking about, and just as you predicted, he seemed to light up at your invitation.

The heat of the moment seemed to have passed, with the two of you now safely in your home, and not coming off the heels of being chased down the street. Patrick sat on your living room couch while you poured two tumblers of a criminally expensive whiskey.

You returned to the living room and sat down on the far end of the couch, passing him one of the cups before extending your legs out. You were pleasantly surprised when he positioned your legs over his lap and began to soothingly rub up and down your calves.

“What a day,” you sighed, taking a long sip from your cup.

“You’re telling me,” he chuckled in response.

As you laid there, you realized that you were actually quite exhausted. A silence settled over you once more as you yawned, then Patrick yawned not too long after you.

“You know, you’re nothing like I expected you to be,” he said randomly.

“Oh?” you replied questioningly. “Should I be offended or flattered?”

“Up for interpretation,” he looked over to you to gauge your reaction, and you playfully pushed his thigh with your foot.

“Then I’m gonna interpret it in a good way.”

“I meant it in a good way,” he said after a beat.

You smiled softly as you peered at him. “I didn’t expect you to be like this, either. I actually had a lot of fun beating you in golf and running from security guards.”

“No way you’re still talking about golf after I absolutely demolished you in tennis,” he laughed, a sound that you’d grown rather fond of throughout the day.

“It was pretty amazing watching you play golf with such bad form. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone use that many strokes on that course.”

“You wanna talk about bad form?” Patrick laughed again. “It’s a miracle you didn’t pull something when we played tennis.”

“Hey! My form is not that bad. You know I was in tennis lessons as a kid, right?”

“And how long ago was that?” he probed, looking at you with a suspicious raise of a brow.

You tried your best to do some mental math, but you were far too tired to be precise. “I mean, it was a while ago…?”

“Clearly,” he shook his head.

“Rude,” you replied, though your tone carried across you not really caring. “I’m still here for a few more weeks. Maybe you could teach me.”

“Only if you teach me how to get better at golf. I’m gonna have to impress my fellow board members someday.”

“Deal,” you agreed. Part of you wanted to leap for joy after establishing that this wasn’t some sort of one-and-done thing, and that you could at least see Patrick until you went back home.

You watched as he leaned further against the couch and tilted his head against the cushioned back of the piece of furniture, his eyes fluttering shut as he did so.

“Want to go sleep on a real bed? The guest room is clean,” you offered.

“No, I’m comfortable here,” he yawned and patted your calf. You didn’t believe him in this slightest, with his long limbs and less than ideal sleeping position. But you were quite comfortable, so you didn’t bother with insisting he leave the couch.

In the morning, you woke up in the same position that you’d fallen asleep in, with your legs draped over Patrick’s lap as he sat up and snored.

You did your best not to disturb him as you got up and went about your morning routine, taking a shower and changing into something comfortable before heading back downstairs. You were surprised to find Patrick somehow still upright and asleep on your couch, but you didn’t question it too much. It had been a long day and night.

You brewed some coffee in the kitchen, making sure to leave a portion for your guest, before you grabbed the book you’d been reading and headed out to sit on your portion of the beach.

You’d lost track of time while sitting out there, listening to the sound of the ocean and getting caught up in the contents of your book. In fact, you’d gotten so lost in your book, that you hadn’t even noticed that you’d gained a presence on the beach.

After Patrick cleared his throat, you turned to look at him. A smile grew on your face as the two of you locked eyes, and you scooted to the left on your oversized beach chair. Surely, there was enough space for both of you.

He took your invitation and sat down next to you, glancing between you and the ocean as he settled in. He wrapped an arm around your shoulder and occasionally peered down at your book, but otherwise didn’t bother you. The two of you fell into a comfortable rhythm, your chests rising and falling in sync with each other as the two of you lost track of time.

Maybe Patrick wasn’t such a terrible beach companion after all.

#patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig #patrick zweig x you #challengers #challengers fanfic #josh o'connor x reader #art donaldson x reader

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nu-suave · 1 day

Text

SO, WHERE FROM HERE? feat. getou suguru

word count: 2066

summary: you find suguru in your kitchen, months after his defection from jujutsu society. things go better than expected. a/n: sorry if the pacing is weird. i didn't want to beta read because thinking about beta reading reminds me of the assignment i have due in two days

“I hate him,” you say to yourself, alone in the bathroom as your fingers dig harshly into your temples. “I hate him, I hate him, I don’t like him. I don’t want to make friends with him. I don’t want him to apologise to me. I don’t–”

There’s shuffling in your kitchen. Seven minutes ago, there was a knock on your door. You’d known, since you messaged Suguru three weeks ago begging to see him, that he would show up sometime. Well, you hadn’t known, but you’d heavily suspected. He’d left all of you without a word months ago - Satoru, Shouko, you. It was like one day, he was there (albeit depressive and withdrawn) and the next, he was a wanted man. He’d killed a village of people. He and Satoru had a run-in so bad that Satoru still refuses to say his name.

He’s now sitting in your lounge.

Your hands are clammy. What do you do in this situation? You’d been so awfully lonely when you sent that message. All you’d wanted was your best friend back, to talk to him and understand his reasoning and see where he was coming from. Why he did what he did. If he really hated all of you the way Satoru claimed - if, despite everything that happened, he was still the Suguru you miss so dearly.

“I hate him,” you repeat dully. “I don’t- I don’t want to forgive him. I hate him.”

It’s not working. Shouko had told you that manifestation works wonders on an unsettled mind, but she was clearly lying. You don’t know why you trusted her word. She’s studying medicine, not psychology, and what tests she does take she only scores so high because of the cheating tactics she’s refined under three years of Yaga’s vigilance. You try once more. “I hate him.”

Yeah, it’s not working. Your mouth is thick with cotton, an awful churning in your gut that once, you would have mistaken for nerves. It’s still nerves, just not born from that vague fluster he’d incite in you. It’s dread, plain and simple. You’re terrified of things going wrong. Of him being unjustified. Of messing things up.

Not of messing things up, actually, because there’s nothing to mess up. You hate him, remember?

You kind of feel hypnotised as you step out of the bathroom, steps a slow shuffle and vaguely light-headed. Suguru looks different. He’s switched out the uniform he practically slept in for monk robes, and his hair’s been left to grow out. It was always long, but intentionally - now, his bangs aren’t carefully trimmed, his hair isn’t meticulously slicked back into its bun. He keeps it long, and down, falling prettily around sharp eyes.

Regretfully, he’s always been pretty. It’s not until now that you really find yourself wishing otherwise.

“Hi,” you say lamely, “sorry about that.”

“Don’t worry,” he replies, voice surprisingly warm. He’s got one ankle resting on his knee, your most recent book open in one hand as he skims the pages. “My arrival was surprising. I understand.”

“I didn’t think you’d come.” You hover in the lounge, watching him flip through your book as if nothings out of the ordinary. “Right! Do you want something to drink? Coffee?”

“I’m fine. I don’t know if I’ll stay long.” He turns his gaze to you as he says that, characteristically intense and yet unfamiliarly guarded. You settle awkwardly onto the sofa. “You said you wanted to see me.”

“Yeah.” Your words are too soft - you hate him, you hate him, you hate him. “I didn’t think you’d reply.”

“I was in the area.”

“Right.” Awkward silence lingers between the pair of you. “So, how have you been?”

“Fine. Better than I’ve been in a while.” He pauses. “I adopted two girls.”

“Oh?” Your heart thuds in your throat. “That’s nice. I always thought you’d make a good dad.”

“It’s turning out to be a harder challenge than I expected.”

You’re both silent once more. God, this is awful. “Hey, Suguru–”

“Listen, I–”

You shut your mouth. He shuts his. This atmosphere; stilted, awkward, like you’re strangers struggling for small talk instead of best friend’s of several years finally reunited. Well, he’s your best friend. You know you were always second place to Satoru. You try again. “Suguru.”

He replies with your name.

“I, um,” you lace your fingers together in an attempt to keep them still in your lap. “I just… I wanted to say- that is, um, that I missed you. I’m glad you’re okay.”

Before your eyes, he softens; his shoulders relax, his gaze turns languid, his uncomfortable grip on your book changes. It snaps shut, the soft sound echoing through the room. “I missed you too. You… you meant a lot to me. Mean a lot to me. I’m sorry I couldn’t say goodbye.”

“It’s okay,” you huff, even though it’s not. “I don’t suppose you being wanted was planned. Besides, from what I hear, you weren’t the nicest with your goodbyes to Satoru.”

He winces. “...How is he?”

“Not well. He misses you. We all do.”

Suguru hums.. He’s got the perfect voice for it; soft and lilting, a vague hum high in his throat. “I didn’t want to leave. I just…” he trails off.

“Take your time.” You press your laced hands down in your lap. Your arms are stiff against your side. “I, um, would like to know why you left. Why you took such… extreme actions. I wish you’d told me what you were planning. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed it.”

“It’s okay,” he says, about as honest as your own. “It’s okay. It’s just that… Satoru is on another level, you know? He’s the strongest - we can’t reach him anymore. I can’t reach him anymore. We can’t live off his ambition, and I finally found mine. I ended up struggling with it, with deciding what was right and wrong and how I felt about it.”

“About what?”

“About everything.” His eyes flutter shut as he relaxes into the seat. “Non-sorcerers… they have no idea what we do for him. I always thought we should protect them - that they’re weaker than us, so it’s our duty as the strong to defend them. But time passed, Riko - the star plasma vessel - died, Haibara died. It put a lot of things into perspective.”

You nod. Suguru doesn’t see it. He continues anyway. “Suddenly, I was asking: what’s the point in this? In any of this? Why do we have to fight and die and watch everyone around us be killed just for the safety of some… some monkeys that didn’t even know what we did for them? How is that fair to us?”

“Don’t call them that,” you say sharply. His eyes open, jaw flexing as he stares at you. “I never agreed with you on that, you know? It’s never been fair to us but it always felt patronising, the way you’d talk about non-sorcerers. Like they were so weak, you just had to help them because they’d be helpless without you.”

“Wouldn’t they be?” He asks. “Curses are born from their inability to control cursed energy. If they were all dead, there’d be no more curses. No more need to continue this, where everyone’s always dying for them and then those that don’t have kids to die in their stead.”

“I don’t want to fight with you over this. Why’d you kill that village?”

“For my girls.” Suguru’s lips purse, like he wants to continue what was clearly building up to be a fight, but he lets it go. His arms fall slack in his lap. “The village… they wanted to kill them. My girls are both sorcerers, and they picked up on it. They brought me in to exorcise them, and they were kept chained in this small, filthy cell. They were so scared. They hadn’t been fed properly and hadn't been able to shower in weeks. The leader was there, talking about how these two girls - they’re only six, you know that? - were a blight on the village and a bad omen, and they wanted to kill them. I beat them to it.”

How remarkably Suguru, to want to protect those two girls. He’s always been protective of his underclassmen at Jujutsu High, it’s no surprise he’d go this far. And yet, mass murderer. You remind yourself once again that you’re supposed to hate him. “So you killed them.”

“I killed them.” He confirms. “Witnessing that brutality… it makes it hard to feel any sympathy for non-sorcerers. They were like that after Riko, you know? Clapping endlessly at her dead body. Satoru asked me if we should kill them all. A part of me wishes he’d said yes.”

You nod slowly. It’s hard, biting down the immediate revulsion, the way it battles with your trust and affection. “I don’t think this is the right way to go about it, Suguru. The- the complete disregard for life among Jujutsu society, I don’t think the best way to go about fixing it is slaughtering innocent people. It’s kind of a, uh, systemic issue? Killing non-sorcerers isn’t going to stop the higher-ups from sending people to die.”

“What can I do?” He asks, rhetoric. “I’m already wanted.”

You reach out over to him. You hate him, you hate him. You miss him more. Your hand clasps his, half leaning out of the couch. He meets you halfway, and it dangles somewhat awkwardly in the air until you tug on it, gesturing for him to sit beside you. He does. “Yeah. You are. Do you regret it?”

“I don’t know. I feel happier.”

“Okay.” Your thumb rubs patterns into the warmth of his hand, running over the smooth ridges of his knuckles. You keep your eyes focused there, between you, rather than on his face. “I don’t agree with you, but okay.”

“Okay?”

Your eyes flutter shut, breath shuttering in your chest. His other hand moves, grasp fragile, to tenderly cup the back of your neck - to guide it into leaning against his shoulder. God, you missed him. You missed him so much it hurts. “Okay. I can… do you want to talk to Satoru again?”

“No.” Clipped, sharp, immediate. You suppose you’ll have to take what you can get. Feel like a bit of a monster, honestly, for not fighting him on it. “I can’t.”

“That’s alright,” you murmur, words pressed into the meat of his shoulder, cheek rubbing against the fabric of his robes. “Would you be willing to change? To not kill anyone else? At least for now?”

His grip on your hand tightens. “Why?”

“We can fix this,” you swear, even if you don’t know if it’s true. “We can resolve this, I think. We’ll find a way, if you want to.”

“Okay. But no Satoru.”

He’s not so far down this path that he doesn’t see reason. You couldn’t be more grateful. Before you sits Getou Suguru, mass murderer, your best friend. One of those titles holds more weight than the other. “No Satoru,” you repeat, “but you promise not to kill anyone else.”

“If I can help it,” he says, which is probably the best you can get. “And I’m not promising anything else. I don’t… I need to change things. I can’t…”

“I understand,” you soothe. You don’t, not really, but you will - for his sake, for your own, for the chance of your continued friendship. For what remains of the blossoming relationship you had before everything fell apart. “Just try. Please?”

He nods, the weight heavy against your skull.

“And I want to meet your kids.”

“What?”

“Your kids. They need someone aside from you in their life. I want to meet them.”

He huffs, the puff of air soft against your head. “You’re impossible.”

“This is my condition, Suguru. I’m meeting your girls.”

“Okay. They’ve been wanting to meet you, anyway.”

“You told them stories about me? They better have been flattering.”

“How could they not?” The words are tender, caressing the skin of your cheeks and settling deep in your chest. “Don’t be too nice to them. I want to come out of your meeting still the favourite.”

“Hard ask,” you reply. “I’m going to impress the hell out of those kids. Do they like Barbie, or are they more Monster High kind of girls?”

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #geto x reader #getou x reader #suguru x reader #geto suguru x reader #getou suguru x reader #geto x you #suguru getou x reader #suguru geto x reader #getou x you #suguru x you

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miracles-and-butterflies · 2 days

Text

Saving a miracle is a lot and comes at a hefty price. Good thing nobody warned Mirabel ahead of time, wouldn’t want her to be able to consider what she’s doing before making rash decisions.

Vaguely inspired by @yellowcry’s Cursed Gifts AU.

And I’m Asking, “Why, Lord?”

Mirabel and Bruno sit in a circle with one or two of Antonio’s capybaras that couldn’t be convinced to move for a moment. Antonio, and the rest of his animal friends, had given them space to do what they needed to do - playing by the waterfall in his room. The candle between them flickers as Bruno reads from a book. It looks ancient, practically falling apart in his hands.

As the room shakes, Mirabel wrings her hands anxiously. “We might want to hurry,” she prompts.

Bruno chuckled at her. “You can’t rush magic, kid.”

“I know, it’s just…” she doesn’t actually have anything to say that isn’t obvious. She takes a breath, trying to calm down. “I would never forgive myself if something happened to my family.”

“I can relate to that. You try to help your family by giving visions to the town and then all you hear is ‘Bruno’s creepy and his vision killed my goldfish’.” He paused, waiting for her to laugh, but the only reaction he got was some confusion. He shrugged. “And, I mean, it’s been a while since I’ve done this. Who knows if it will even work.”

“You are telling me this now?” She demanded.

“I didn’t want to say anything in front of Antonio. He seems like a nice kid, he shouldn’t have to be caught up in all,” he gestured, “this.”

They had told Antonio it was a vision. Just an innocent vision. Not some crazy ritual to let m dead Pedro Madrigal interact with them and advise them on how to save the miracle. Absolutely not. That would be insane.

Finally, Bruno set the book aside. He struck a match, lighting each of the piles of dry leaves that surrounded their family candle. The flame was still flickering occasionally, but there had been no new cracks in the last few hours if that was a consolation.

The light began to fade from the room, the winds picking up around them.

“Wait,” Mirabel said, eyebrow raised. “You mentioned something about an offering? We don’t have that.”

“We do.” Bruno replied.

“Do we?” She asked.

The flames died out over the leaves. Their candle remained, faintly glowing as the room got darker still.

Mirabel couldn’t see anything. She hadn’t been entirely sure what an offering meant - what did one give their dead grandfather anyways? Perhaps there had been something in the circle and she had just missed it. The book, its forgotten language and religion, made no sense to her. She had to put her trust in her Tío.

The room was wrapped in darkness.

There was nothing for a moment. No movement, no sound.

Nothing.

She turns to where she thinks Bruno is, curiously. “Did... did it work?”

There isn’t an answer.

“Tío Bruno?” She tries.

She jumps when something cold grasps at her shoulder, she screams. Turning and scrambling away, she sees it is a hand. Discoloured and stained in dirt and blood. In fact, the whole body is. A rotting corpse. Through the partly decomposed head, she can make out the face of her Abuelo that hangs over the bottom of the stairs. He looks identical but also nothing like his portrait.

“Are.. are you Abuelo Pedro?” She manages to brave herself to question the figure.

The lips curve upwards in acknowledgment and he cackles loudly at her. His haunting voice echoes around the room (the space?)— wherever they are. It rings in her head and her eardrums burn in discomfort.

“Of course, you silly, little girl. You haven’t summoned any other dead bodies to chat with, have you?”

She hesitantly shakes her head - though technically she hasn’t summoned any at all. Bruno summoned him, she was just there. But, to be fair, there is no way Pedro could have known that.

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”

Freezing, she stares at him in horror.

Mirabel shakes herself, “Tío Bruno said that you could help me.. that you could help save our miracle?”

“Why, yes, I can definitely help. I could help save the miracle for you. But why should I? I’m not the one disturbing the dead for my own selfish gain.”

That catches her off guard. It isn’t selfish, she is doing it for her family. To save them, to help them. Anybody would in her place—

“Lie to yourself all you want, Mirabel, but you can’t lie to me. You want this for yourself. You want to be loved, instead of kept on the sidelines forever?”

She has nothing to say.

Tears welling in her eyes because she knows it’s true. She wants that for herself, just as much as she wants to help her family.

“I will help you with saving our precious miracle, in exchange for the offering.”

He steps closer, menacingly tall compared to her, especially when she’s cowering on the ground before him.

“I don’t have anything, I’m sorry,” she admits. “Tío Bruno said he would handle the offering. I had no idea what it meant or what he will give to you. You would have to ask him.”

There’s another painfully loud cackle.

His cold hand reaches for her, dirty nails grasping into the skin of her cheek. Almost pulling her body off the ground in the process.

“You stupid girl, what do you think you’re here for?”

Her heart stops. “..What?”

“You’re the offering.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth and process themself in her brain, she pulls away from him, stumbling to her feet and attempting to run. There is nowhere for her to go. She’s trapped. Long before her wrist is caught in the dead man’s hold, yanking her back to him like he’s stronger than Luisa and she’s nothing more than some worthless ragdoll.

She is shaking with fear, his hand ghosting over her face and wiping tears.

“The one child that slipped from the miracle’s hand, completely untouched,” he muses to himself, admiring the offering; the prey. “The magic hasn’t hurt you like it has done the others, it doesn’t seem fair to leave you that way, doesn’t it? After all… you did so badly want to belong, didn’t you?”

#encanto #my writing #mirabel madrigal #bruno madrigal #pedro madrigal #encanto au

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yikes-em · 15 hours

Text

Nap Away

For @astrangersummer week 2: afternoon nap

steddie | 976 words | gen/no warnings | college/modern

Read also on ao3

Tuesdays and Wednesdays are Steve’s weekends. He’s a hairstylist, a junior one at that, and works Thursday through to Monday. He and Eddie have no overlapping days off, Eddie’s from the bar falling on Sunday and Mondays, but Steve has his Tuesdays and Wednesdays. He goes grocery shopping, gives the plants of his their weekly watering should their routine require, doctor and dentists appointments. This Wednesday so happens to be Steve’s rare empty day. He’s already run the dishwasher and laundry, both audibly going in the kitchen. The bathroom is clean, they’d already agreed on pizza for dinner so no need for prep. Everything was right in the world. One glance at the clock told Steve, nested into a pile of blankets and pillows on the couch with a book, that Eddie should be home from his noon class shortly. The sound of keys in the doorknob confirmed that fact not even five minutes later.

“Heey, Stevie,” Eddie hums, bag dropping to the ground by their door as he toes his shoes off.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Steve muses back, dogearing the page. He pushes his glasses to the top of his head. “How was class?”

Eddie holds a finger to his lips with closed eyes. Steve understands. “I’ve gotta be back on campus in a few hours.”

“How many?”

“Three.”

“Right, thank you,” Steve hums. He adjusts his body to make room on the couch and tucks his book under the pillow beside him. “Sorry I forgot. How can I help you?”

Eddie blushes, kicking his feet up a little as he steps further into the living room to the beat of the music Steve’s got playing through the TV. He speaks through a yawn-- “I dunno.”

“Sleepy?”

“Yeah.”

“Hungry?”

“Not really.”

“Need to do any work before class?”

“Surprisingly, no,” Eddie grins when his shins hit the couch. Steve reaches up for Eddie’s hips with both hands, holds him firmly, and presses a gentle kiss through his shirt just under Eddie’s belly button. “Whatcha reading?”

“Still trying to get through Watership Down.”

“Fuck yeah, baby, let me know if there’s anymore words you need help with?”

Steve nods. He moves his hands from Eddie’s sides up to grab his hands, tugging down at him. Eddie understands, sitting where Steve’s made space for him. Eddie yawns again and goes where he’s pulled until he’s flush against Steve’s body. The warmth on the couch grows as the shifting sun hits the front window just right and flashes rainbows through the lounge. It’s beautiful and safe and most importantly, theirs.

“How’s your day been, love?”

“Calm,” Steve hums lightly as he cards his fingers through Eddie’s hair. The dark green block of color taking up the left half of his bangs would be ready to be colored in the next few weeks, with his roots grown out a half inch already, but currently it was a tonedeaf and seasick teal. Sometimes Steve would find himself overcritical of his work, particularly on Eddie. Now, like it had been in the short months they’d been living together, his mind was quiet. Steve picked apart a few curls that clumped densely together.

“Good,” Eddie says, yawning yet again.

“When do you need to leave?”

Eddie takes a peek across the room at the same clock Steve had. “Class is at 5, I’ll be out at 6:15, I think. So leave around 4:30?”

“I’ll drop you off, we can leave quarter till. Go on and nap a bit, Eds.”

“You’re so chivalrous,” Eddie grins like a dope up at Steve. He nuzzles into Steve’s shirt, nose poking through the space between the buttons. Steve lets out a breathy giggle and pushes his face back. “I’m so lucky!”

“Yeah, you are.”

“You sure you’re comfortable?” Eddie asks, voice turning soft and genuine.

“Well, here, hang on.” Steve slides out from under Eddie with only a few grumbles, returning a minute later with a fresh glass of water and a small bowl of pre-cut strawberries with powdered sugar on top. Eddie whines again when he’s forced to hold himself up enough for Steve to return to his previous spot, but is quickly soothed by a few strawberries and a kiss on the head. “Alright, now we’re good. Nap away, my love.”

“I need to be up by 4 at least…” Eddie mumbles, all but a whisper. Steve nods as he wraps his arm around Eddie and pulls him close. He doesn’t wake Eddie until 4:15, a solid two hour nap in Steve’s opinion, with a kind nudge of his knee and kiss above Eddie’s ear after returning Watership Down to the coffee table. Eddie rouses slowly with a pathetic whine.

“Steeevieeeee,” He cries, wriggling around on Steve’s lap. “Sleeeeepyyyy…!”

“I know, baby,” Steve hums and shifts again so Eddie has no comfortable resting spot anymore. He sits up and rubs aggressively at his eyes. “Come on, tie your hair up and we can take a quick shower before I drop you off.”

“Hot?” Eddie peeks out from behind his knuckles.

“Yeah, Eds,” he laughs softly, already reaching for the hair tie around Eddie’s wrist. “Now, hop up, let’s go.”

Steve doesn’t even have time to dry his hair before they have to rush off, Eddie making it to class exactly on time. If they’d gotten a little carried away in the shower, who can blame them? But by the time Eddie returns home again there’s a hot meat lovers pizza on the coffee table, an episode of Jeopardy queued on TV, and Steve perched yet again in the middle of a blanket puddle on the couch. There’s no disagreements when Eddie further investigates and finds Steve in one of Eddie’s old band hoodies and just his boxers, limp hair sending thin clumps of waves over his forehead. Yeah, Eddie’s a lucky guy.

#steddie #eddie munson #steve x eddie #steve harrington #a stranger summer #steddie fanfic #stranger things #fanfiction #afternoon naps #hairstylist steve #college student eddie

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darkwolf989 · 2 days

Text

Papi! I need you! (Valentino x Daughter)

I pushed open the doors of my fathers studio. It has been weeks since I had actually had a full on conversation with my father. His work kept him busy, and to a point I understood it. But both Uncle Vox and Auntie Vel ran their own companies too and they still made it home for dinner each night. Now both of them were busy, and I needed his help.

Well, even moreso, I needed my dad.

My father was on his feet as soon as he heard my voice.

“What are you doing here, niñita?” He asked as he stepped in front of me, effectively blocking the view of whatever was going on onstage. “I’ve told you time and time again I don’t want you in here.”

“I need your help with my math homework. You said I couldn’t watch TV until it was done and I’m stuck.” I said, crossing my arms as defiantly as I could while fighting the urge to run to him and wrap him in a hug. “Papi, please.”

He sighed and guided me back towards the elevator. “Isn’t that an issue Uncle Vox or Aunt Vel can handle?” He asked as he guided me back towards the elevator. “Ninita, I need you to stay out of my studio.”

“Then Papi, I need your help with my homework.” I said firmly. “And they’re busy.”

He sighed. “Fine, mi amore.” He ensured I was safely into the elevator before he turned his back to me and hollered orders at the demons in his studio.

He stood in front of me, his arms crossed as the door closed behind us muffling the sound of the scattering of his employees. As soon as the door closed, I wrapped my arms around him in a hug. His expression softened instantly as he returned my affection, planting a kiss on my forehead before releasing me.

“How was your day, Daddy?” I asked as I stepped out into our home. “I missed you.”

“Busy, muñeca,” he replied, “Very, very busy.”

I could feel my face fall. “I’m sorry, Papito. I can keep trying on my own, I’m sorry I bothered you. I know your works important and I know you’re really busy.”

“I’m never too busy for you, my princessa,” he replied quickly. “I’m glad you cam and got me. Tell me, what exactly are we working on?”

“Algebra. They keep asking me to find x and I’m not a relationship expert, but maybe they should let x go.” I replied with a grin.

If he understood my joke, he wasn’t amused by it.

I took a seat at my pink work desk and looked down again at my math book. I had finished every problem except one. I had attempted it three times, just like Uncle Vox made me, and watched a video and I still could’ve got the problem to check. I yanked my hair in frustration as my father looked over my shoulder. I felt his hand wrap around my wrist and his other gently untangle my fingers.

“This is a terrible habit, bebita. You’ll ruin your beautiful hair.” He pulled one of the pink chairs over next to me. “Show me what’s troubling you.”

I showed him the problem and he studied my attempts, and then looked at the book.

“Ah. Mi amore. Try moving 3x over to the left, rather than 4 to the right. See if that fixes the issue.”

I did as he suggested and he waited patiently as I reworked the numbers. To my delight, it checked.

“Thanks, Papi!” I wrapped my arms around his neck and buried my face into his shoulder, inhaling the scent of his office. Strawberries, maybe. And something spicy. “Best Dad ever.”

“I wouldn’t go that far, ninita,” he said as he returned my hug. “Is that all you needed?”

I held him tight in response and rested my head on his shoulder. “Unless you want to let me read my English essay to you?’

I saw the hesitation in his eyes. I felt my heart sink- he probably did have to get back to work. I shouldn’t have interrupted him to begin with, really. After all, he was so very busy. But to my surprise he kissed my forehead.

“Of course mi amore, I would love to hear it.” He took a seat on my bed. “Present away, carnino.”

I felt my heart swell as I grabbed my paper. As soon as I finished, he clapped his hands.

“Beautifully written, muñeca”

I flung myself back around him and practically toppled him in the bed. “I missed you, Daddy.” I said as I clung to him. “I want you to put me to bed tonight. Not Uncle Vox or Auntie Vel.”

His grip tightened as he sat us both up. “ I suppose I have been a bit too busy with work, mi amore.” He tucked my head under his chin. “How about a daddy daughter night? We can go out to dinner and watch a movie when we come back?”

I liked the sound of that very much.

#valentino x reader #the vees #hazbin hotel #valentino x you #hazbin fluff #the vees x reader #vox x reader #valentino #valentino hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel valentino #vees #voxvel

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quibbs126 · 1 day

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So I made these Warrior Cats designs today, mostly out of boredom and because I wanted to draw

As you can tell, I took some creative liberties. Which for the most part we’re just me making them more genetically accurate since I’m back on watching that cat genetic video playlist again. I kept losing focus on it as I drew though

Spottedleaf and Redtail were my first attempts, but they didn’t end up looking that great. They were also originally going to be full body, but then I realized I don’t know how to draw cat bodies, so they’re just neck up, like usual. I did a lot better with Sandstorm so I just stuck with her method

I’m pretty sure Spottedleaf and Redtail are actually calicos, not plain tortoiseshells, but shush I wanted to do it like that. Though the not full body means I can’t show off the idea of Redtail’s red being mostly around his hind and tail

With Sandstorm I made her a dilute tortie because of the whole “Redtail being her dad” thing. When I looked on the Wiki I saw that this appears isn’t the case anymore, but screw it, I like the idea and personally wanted to keep it. She originally had grey fur, but I changed it to fawn so that Leafpool could still be at least partially brown-ish

As for Firestar, I know that genetically he wouldn’t be red, since his mother was brown, but I mean his fur color being red is relevant so shush. Maybe Nutmeg is red in this universe, I don’t know. I also made him a mackerel, though I kind of want to make him a classic tabby now. But then I’d have to change Leafpool’s markings too, which is too much of a hassle right now

Also randomly I just want to add in for no particular reason, my favorite era of Firestar is when he’s a stressed as hell out deputy to a losing her grip on reality Bluestar. Don’t know why I wanted to add that but I do. I think I just want to read the books again

I decided to then make Squirrelflight and Leafpool because why not? And they’re both torties because I made Sandstorm one. Granted I probably could have left at least one of them solid, since they’re like, two thirds red and only one third something else. But I kind of like how they look, so shush

I’ve actually been editing Squirrelflight as I write this, since first I realized I didn’t change Squirrel’s black coloring after changing Sand and Leaf’s grey to fawn. Then I realized that I didn’t need to keep Squirrel’s red the same as Fire’s, since he’s a tabby and that’s a whole color thing (or something, I wasn’t paying too much attention), and then trying to make it so her cinnamon doesn’t clash with the new red. I think I got something good now?

Leaf doesn’t have much to talk about other than being a dilute tortie, but with more fawn than her mother

With Tigerclaw I just kept him basically the same as canon. Other than that, random thing but I half forgot that Tigerclaw not actually being evil and instead just being a grump is something that I made up and isn’t actually canon

Then I made Goldenflower so I could do Bramble and Tawny like I did Squirrel and Leaf. I think she’s a tabby in canon, but I took that out. Also she and Tigerclaw’s amber eye colors were switched originally, but the lighter amber clashed with the cream color

I know Bramble is supposed to look identical to his dad, this was a plot point, but genetically that isn’t accurate, he should be either red or cream from his mom’s side because fur color is sex linked. I think in a previous attempt at this I made him red, with the idea that it made Bramble actually resemble Fire, but this time I went with cream so that he’d look like his dad but with his mom’s colors

Tawnypelt is mostly the same. Her black fur’s because Tigerclaw’s a black tabby. And also her eyes are amber because her parents have amber eyes

I wasn’t sure who to do after, I was gonna just call it quits, but then I decided to do Lionheart since he was important to the first book. And as I checked on the Wiki he’s apparently Goldenflower’s brother. I feel like I made him look fruity, which wasn’t intentional, I was just trying to make him look like Goldenflower

Also Lionheart and Goldenflower look a lot like Daisy I’m noticing. Probably shouldn’t have done that but oh well

I might make more of these, probably first doing Dustpelt and Ravenpaw and then Cinderpelt’s family, maybe Ferncloud and Ashfur too, who knows?

#just wanted to post this I guess #warrior cats #my art #spottedleaf #redtail #sandstorm #firestar #squirrelflight #leafpool #tigerclaw #goldenflower #tawnypelt #brambleclaw #lionheart #random stuff

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multifandomlover01 · 2 years

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Do you write for Generation Kill?

I have not seen it, so no, I do not write for it. The show intrigues me, though. So, I do intend to (at some point) read the book and watch the series (and eventually write for it, I suppose), but I do not know when that will be. My sincerest apologies.

But I’ve generally had less interest in it than Band of Brothers and The Pacific because it takes place in 2003 and not the 40s. This is simply historical preference on my part.

#ask #generation kill #so sorry #I’ve generally been less interested in it #but I am interested #I’ve just not got around to reading the book #haven’t acquired the series yet #it’s a lot lighter than BoB and TP I’ve heard #so that’s good #might not be so much of an emotional investment then

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elijah-inmymind · 4 months

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lmao mum was talking about these friends of friends i’ve met like twice ever and i didn’t remember who they were until i remembered being 12 years old and repeatedly whacking the dad with my book (while still keeping my page) for making a gay joke, after sitting through like an hour of the intensely feminist mum (heart in the right place, very misguided) insisting that i was oppressed and subconsciously ashamed of my body (i wasn’t) bc i refused to shave my legs but also ‘hid’ them by wearing pants a lot.

shaving is pointless if ur 12 and autistic and have no concept of the social expectation that gives many young girls that final push to start shaving, and pants are great when ur 12 and autistic and obsessed with collecting as many different colours of skinny jeans as possible bc they’re comfy and u love colours.

also their daughter was ANNOYING. she has a baby now tho which is alright bc i do actually think she’s smart as well as annoying.

#el has a life #literally just a stream of consciousness #complete and utter ramble #this is barely even information but i liked thinking it so idk have fun reading it if u want i’m not ur dad do whatever man live ur dreams #i’m so sleepy dude can u tell #actually autistic #with the gay joke the dad actually made that joke about the mum’s own brother #and i can remember what it was but i remember she didn’t like it #and i was holding a book so i said hey i’ll whack him with my copy of Percy Jackson and the Sea of Monsters if u want #honestly i was going to anyway i just thought it’d be polite to announce my intentions #and she said yeah go for it so i chased him around whacking him with my book for like five whole minutes #12 year old me committed to the fucking bit #and then i got told the fuck off on the car drive back home bc it ‘was rude’ and ‘made a bad first impression on him’#and mum went ‘i know you were only joking-‘ and i went ‘oh no i wasn’t. no no i meant it. see he’s homophobic and i’m holding a book.’#‘what else was i to do’#sorry i’m basking in my victory over this man i’ve literally only ever seen that one time #slay 12 year old me #i think i was older actually i think i was like 13 or 14 #bc i wasn’t a girl or straight then and that is a big indicator around that time #i better not have covid

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ongreenergrasses · 4 months

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for sleepover saturday: Top 5 books you read last year or 5 you want to read in the new year? (if books are not preferred media, swap with media of choice)

hello! Amazing question i love it 💜 as i am at work i don’t remember which ones i read last year so we’ll do ones for this upcoming year

Silver in the Wood & Drowned Country by Emily Tesh

When Women Were Dragons by Kelly Barnhill

Ink Blood Sister Scribe by Emma Törzs

Bomb Power: The Modern Presidency and the National Security State by Garry Wills

The Cello Still Sings: A Generational Story of the Holocaust and of the Transformative Power of Music by Janet Horvath

sleepover Saturday

#ask and you shall receive #anosrepasi #I’ve been trying to read book number 2 since about last year but haven’t gotten around to it. book 4 is one the gf just got from the librar #and I was like damn that looks good and book 5 was gifted to me by my stand partner from the last show i worked 💖

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lightspren · 1 year

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so I realized something a little earlier - I think part of why I’ve been reading so much more since getting the kindle is the ability to change the text size. It’s not just bad eyesight, tho it is that. I think having less text on the “page” is keeping me from doing the thing I do where I subconsciously decide a paragraph is boring, skip over it, keep reading, get confused because I skipped an entire paragraph, and have to go back and reread things.

#kit talks #and yeah i got my kindle like a year and a half ago but this is just now occurring to me #the difference is amazing though #I read 34 unique books last year plus 4 rereads and 10 novellas #I’ve read 18 books so far this year and four novellas so I think I’ll be surpassing last years numbers #and a big part of it IS not having to carry 500-1000 page books around #but i think the text size and the yellow light are huge accessibility features I didn’t know i needed

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