Super short oneshot about waking up next to the god of mischief ♡
Mega fluff, clingy Loki, married au, Loki still in Asgard au, physical affection YIPPEE-
Word count: 855
I'm currently taking headcanon requests :)
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The Asgardian sun rose into the early morning sky, tinting its previously dim surroundings with warm hues of orange and pink. The day was in its early beginnings. The grand city below stirred under its familiar rays and slowly came to life once more, just as it had for thousands of years before. Villagers and merchants gradually began to show their faces and go about their buying, selling, trading, farming, etc.
Life began to bloom within the palace as well. Servants scurried about, and guards switched out their positions with their replacements. The kitchens prepared breakfast for all the palace's inhabitants, and the smells of freshly baked bread streamed out into the corridors.
But as for two specific (and rather lazy) Asgardians, the day had not yet even begun.
Loki, a prince of Asgard, and his lover lay wrapped up together in the silky covers of the god's luxurious bed, limbs tangled, hair frazzled, and bodies pressed tightly against one another. Their soft snores filled the room almost rhythmically, creating a quiet and peaceful atmosphere that neither of them were even conscious of.
As the morning drifted on, the waking world summoned your body awake, causing you to finally stir and crack open an eye. The light made you wince, and you pushed your face into Loki's chest to shield your sensitive pools. A mumbled groan escaped your lips. Your hands gripped his night clothes in a pathetic attempt to pull yourself impossibly closer to him.
Upon sensing your movements, the raven haired god shifted slightly and tightened his hold on your waist. He half-consciously nuzzled the top of your head with his nose, his soft, warm breaths gently fanning your scalp.
"Are you awake..?" you questioned in a low tone, your voice a little muffled against his evergreen shirt. Loki only mumbled into your hair in response as he traced lazy patterns up and down your back with his long fingers. The mild chill of his skin made you shiver slightly.
You both lied there in comfortable silence for a few more minutes, enjoying the tranquility that came with being in each other's arms. You pressed your body a little closer to his, and he placed a sleepy kiss to your hairline. He slowly rubbed over your side, feeling over your curves that he was already so familiar with.
"We should probably get up soon.." you sighed as you propped yourself up a few inches on your elbow, slowly opening your eyes and attempting to adjust to the bright morning light. You ran a hand through your hair and went to fully sit up, but was swiftly pulled back down by a strong arm.
Loki grumbled out a low: "five more minutes..." and shifted again, this time moving to lay on top of your body and tangling his legs with yours to prevent you from getting up again. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, his lips barely grazing over your skin. You let out an exaggerated sigh at the sudden heavy weight crushing over you and tried to push him off, but he wouldn't budge a single inch. Oh, what a dilemma! Oh well-
Eventually, you gave in and wrapped your arms around his torso again, unable to resist the opportunity to indulge in a clingy Loki. You could practically feel the god smirk against your neck in victory.
"You're such a brat."
Loki let out an amused huff in reaction and settled further on top of you. His touch blindly traveled up your thigh under the covers and found your hip and squeezed it in a firm, yet somehow, gentle grasp. Your soft flesh warm beneath his naturally cool palm.
"Now, now, is that any way to greet your husband good morning?" he quipped, now massaging your hip in a languid manner.
You rolled your eyes yet couldn't fight back the small smile tugging at the corners of your lips that revealed your lack of actual irritation.
"It is when he's being a brat," you sighed, feigning annoyance at his antics that you should have been more than used to by now. But he only chuckled, as he could see right through your little act.
"You can't fool me, darling. I know you far too well to believe even for a second that you're not enjoying this."
You wanted to protest, but the words quickly perished on the tip of your tongue. The bridge of your nose scrunched up in brief annoyance at him calling you out so casually like that. Curse his damn perceptive nature.
"...shut up," you grumbled, pride only slightly wounded. You were thankful that he couldn't see your face and the faint pink hues that tinted your cheeks. He would have enjoyed that far too heavily.
The snarky deity took great pleasure in your hesitant surrender and pressed a lingering kiss to the side of your neck, his face still buried there, taking in the sweet scent of the shampoo and bodywash you use.
"I am capable of many things, but silence is not one of them," he teased with another gentle squeeze of your hip.
Cook being your brother’s best friend was probably the worse thing that could ever happen. He was annoying, for one. With a terrible habit of getting into people’s personal space without asking— especially yours.
When he comes over, he never wastes time in kicking off his shoes and making himself at home. Lounging on the couch liked he lived here, rummaging through the fridge like he paid bills, sitting at your computer desk (that’s only located in your room) with an explicit movie playing on high volume.
Your mom treats him like a second son, your brother treats him like a brother— but you? You think he’s that one stray dog you can’t ever get rid of because someone keeps feeding it and won’t ever let it think it’s alone.
He teases you endlessly, calls you a crybaby when you whine and complain that he’s overbearing and annoying. You thought your brother was worse but Cook was the icing on the cake.
But then something happens. You get caught up in school with the wrong crowd— the easiest target to bullying. You come home with tears streaming down your face and like always, he’s sitting on the couch with his hands shoved in a bag of chips. The moment he hears you come in, sniffing and groaning that you can’t take it anymore, he immediately rushes to your side to ask what happened.
“It’s nothing,” you say, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand.
“Can’t be nothin’ if your crying more then usual— thought those tears were only saved for me?” He teases, trying to cheer you up but there isn’t anything left for you to say.
“Point to them, I’ll handle em’.” He says almost instantly.
You do, thinking he was joking. He’s always joking.
He comes back a few hours later with a bloody nose and red knuckles, panting and groaning that he should stop eating so much snacks and restrict himself to a healthier diet.
Nobody else is home. Your brother is out somewhere. Your mom is at work. It’s just you and him, stuck in the kitchen while you grill him on about what happened.
“Roughed them fuckers up for ya— did a big one on the tall one too. Trust me, they look worser than me.”
“Why’d you do it?”
“Cause they made you cry.”
While your cleaning the blood from his hand, fingers warm against the bottom of his palm— he gives you a look that tells you that this was something more then him trying to defend your honor.
Your lips turn, brows furrowed. “You always make me cry. What’s the difference?”
He blinks, the curls on his head ruffles against his forehead when he tilts his head, and you feel his hand wrap around yours— rough and yet delicate enough to hold your own.
“I’m the only one that gets to do that.”
You tell yourself it was because of the heat of the moment. Two individuals of the opposite sex left alone and unsupervised. But the way he looked at you, like you were one of the only people who mattered in his life broke something in you.
After that, things change.
He still comes over, he still annoys you, but theres this lingering gaze riddle inbetween that’s impossible to ignore.
You think your mind is playing tricks on you— that could only be the logical reasoning to this change in his behavior. And yet, you don’t feel put off by it. There’s a thump in your heart and warmth to your cheeks when he comes around that’s impossible to stop and perhaps, you don’t want it to stop.
…maybe he wasn’t the worse thing after all.
𐔌 authors note ꒱ I brought this up to the server and it made me think long and hard…
Summary: Welton is stressful. Boys stare, classes suck, and math is basically a nightmare. But then there’s Steven Meeks—shy smiles, quiet kindness, and a knack for showing you that even “Hellton” has its bright spots. Between stolen glances in class, secret Dead Poets Society meetings, and late-night breakdowns turned laughter, friendship quickly turns into something more… messy, awkward, and completely unforgettable.
Notes: Hey y'all! This is what I've been working on! Sorry, it's taken me so long; finals have been kicking my ass. It is long, so hopefully you can forgive my lateness lol. I hope I have done my favorite Poet justice. ENJOY!
Word count: 4.2k (HUH??? crazy)
AO3
Your time at Welton, or rather Hellton, was stressful. The classes were challenging, the teachers were unyielding, and friends were…a luxury. This year, Welton had finally decided to admit girls. It was only a small handful, but you were one of the lucky few who made it in. While the administration tried its best to make you all comfortable, the student body clearly hadn’t caught up. The first few weeks were a blur of whispers, lingering stares, and boys gawking at you like you were a prize to be won. The teachers snapped at them to stay focused, which only made you want to sink into your seat and be sucked up into the floor.
But there was one boy who didn’t make you feel like that.
On the first day, you noticed him in trigonometry—two rows ahead, curly red hair catching the sunlight streaming through the large windows. Large glasses framed his brown eyes, and he was murmuring to the brunette boy sitting next to him. The brunette, much louder and far too confident, turned entirely around when you sat down. He winked. You rolled your eyes and looked past him…straight to the redhead.
He blushed instantly.
You watched him punch the brunette in the arm, mortified, before he glanced back at you. You braced yourself for whatever gesture or comment he was going to throw at you. Instead, he gave you a shy, apologetic smile and mouthed, I’m sorry.
It knocked you slightly off balance. You didn’t expect kindness from the Welton boys. You shook your head with a smile, silently telling him it was fine. He let out a visible sigh of relief before turning back around, his shoulder relaxing.
Later, you found out his name was Steven Meeks.
After that moment, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. You saw him everywhere—in the halls, in study period, at lunch with his friends. He was cute, obviously, but also incredibly smart. In every class, his hand shot up to answer everything. He scribbled notes like his life depended on transcribing every word. Occasionally, he whispered answers to his friends when Mr. McAllister wasn’t looking. You started timing your arrival so you’d walk into class right after he sat down, just to catch a glimpse of his smile.
And you were pretty sure he noticed.
During a study hall, you were working on a particularly challenging trig problem, brow furrowed, head in your hand, tongue stuck slightly out in concentration as you scribbled and erased, scribbled and erased. You hadn’t looked up for at least 20 minutes until someone sat down in front of you. You glanced up from your cocoon of work.
“Sorry, this seat’s—” you whispered automatically, then froze.
Steven Meeks.
His curls were a bit unruly, his glasses slightly crooked, and he held his notebook like he was psyching himself up just to approach you.
He leaned in, voice barely audible, “Are you… okay?”
You straightened. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you whispered back instantly.
Meeks raised an eyebrow, then glanced pointedly at your notebook. More accurately, the disaster zone around it. There were eraser shavings everywhere. On your paper, your sleeve, the table, and some stuck to your wrist as if you’d rolled in them. You look back up at him, only to find him raising his eyebrows slightly.
You sigh and close your eyes, “Ok, so…maybe I’m not fine.”
His mouth twitched into an apologetic smile, “Thought so.”
You narrowed your eyes at him, but you couldn’t stop the smile that was creeping onto your face. You push the notebook towards him.
“Please help me before I kill Mr. Hagar and curse his entire lineage.”
Meeks leaned in and whispered, “Lucky for you, I am very good at stopping academic-based homicides.”
Before you could stop yourself, you snorted, and Mr. Hagar’s head snapped up from the front of the room.
SHHHH!
You both froze.
The moment Hager looked away, Meeks exhaled quietly, whispering, “We’re… really bad at being quiet.”
You pressed your hand to your mouth to hide a grin. “We?”
He gave you a scandalized look. “You snorted!”
“You made me!”
“You cursed his entire lineage!”
You smothered a giggle. “Are you going to help me or not?”
He nudged your notebook back toward you, his knee brushing yours under the table.
“Yeah,” he whispered, suddenly soft. “I’ve got you.”
And even with Hager’s eyes on the room like a hawk, you couldn’t help glancing at Meeks again—just to see the little smile he tried (and failed) to hide behind his notes.
~
It had been a few weeks since your introduction, and you and Meeks had become fast friends. The two of you started sitting next to each other in class, despite the cocky brunette, Charlie’s dismay at losing his seat. You shared notes, studied together, and talked about the books you were reading. He introduced you to his friends, and despite the brief awkwardness at you being a girl, they became a joy to be around. Meeks and his friend, but mostly Meeks, had brightened your life at Hellton.
You walked into your last class of the day, English. It was your favorite from the very beginning because your teacher, Mr. Keating, was utterly different from everyone else at Welton. He was kind and patient but also firm and encouraging. He brought people out of their shells and taught with an excitement that made everyone in the room just as passionate as he was. You take your seat at the front of the room. Meeks walks in a minute later with the rest of the group. They all greet you and take their seats, Meeks taking his right next to yours, just like every other class. Just before you were going to start a conversation, Keating waltzed into class.
“What makes an impactful poem?” His voice booms across the classroom. “What makes a poem stick with you?”
The class went silent, pondering his question. Meeks taps his pen against his notebook before he starts to speak. “An impactful poem…” he says slowly, “One that…changes you, even slightly. Something that makes you look at the world differently, even for a moment.” He pauses, gathering the rest of his words. “It sticks with you…usually because it’s honest. Not sugar-coated. Just…real.”
You caught yourself staring at him in awe when his eyes darted over to yours. The two of you flushed slightly and looked back at Mr. Keating.
“Yes, Mr. Meeks. Precisely. Something that makes you see the world in a different manner. What are some ways a poem can change the way you see the world?”
A few other people raised their hands, but something about what Meeks said stuck with you. So much that your hand shot up. Keating looked over at you from where he stopped between the rows of people.
“A poem can change the way you view your relationship with someone. Like a love confession or an admission of feelings.” Your stream of consciousness slipped out of you before you knew what you were saying. Meeks’ pencil stills against his notebook. It takes everything in you not to look over at him.
“Excellently said,” Keating says, a hint of a smirk flitting across his lips before he turned away and continued with the lecture. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Your eyes darted over to Meeks. He was staring at you, wide-eyed, with his mouth slightly open in shock. You fully look over at him and tilt your head slightly, and curl the corner of your lip into a half smile. After a moment, he snaps out of his daze and looks down at his notebook, but a red flush creeps up to the tips of his ears. Your face also feels warm as you look back down at your books and let your mind wander for the rest of class.
~
Your dorm room was silent, other than the occasional page turn of your book or squeak of your mattress. You’d finished with all your work earlier in the evening, so now you’re taking time to finally just relax. You didn’t have a roommate, so your nights were usually tranquil, which you preferred. That was until there was a knock at your door. You weren’t even sure that’s what it was since it was so quiet. Another one followed a few seconds later, and you reluctantly got up out of your cozy bed to see what the intrusion was about. You opened the door, and a head of messy red hair slipped into your room.
“Is everything ok, Meeks?” you ask, concerned.
“Yeah—yes. Everything’s fine.” His voice was hushed but urgent. “No time to explain. Meet us outside in three minutes. Bring a coat and a flashlight.”
“Meeks, what—?”
Before you could finish, he was already halfway out the door again, voice dropping even lower.
“And… you might wanna wear shoes you can run in.”
Then he vanished into the dim hallway, shutting the door with a soft click and leaving you blinking after him.
Three minutes later, you were outside, bundled in a coat with a flashlight in one hand and your heart pounding from the adrenaline of sneaking out. You weren’t exactly sure where you were supposed to go until you spotted Meeks and his friends huddled near the willow tree overlooking the lake.
“This better be good, because if I get caught—”
“Hey, you came!” Meek’s face lit up with an excitement you weren’t expecting.
“You gave me, like, zero context,” you reply, pulling your coat tighter. “The least I could do was investigate before assuming you’d joined a cult.”
He grinned. “Well… not a cult. More like a… club.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “We’re having a meeting tonight. I told the guys I wanted to invite you.”
Your breath caught. “The Dead Poets Society?”
He nods, almost proud. He had mentioned it to you a week ago, and you had secretly wanted to be invited.
“Can we trust you that you’re not going to tell ANYONE?” Charlie asks, staring directly into your soul.
“I promise,” you raise your hand and make a motion of zipping your lips shut. “My lips are sealed.” Charlie looked you up and down once more until he finally turned around.
“Alright then, let's go before anyone sees us.”
You follow them through the woods, branches crunching beneath your boots. You were having trouble keeping up with the rest of the boys. They knew the woods way better than you did and didn’t get caught on branches or exposed roots. You had to take it much more slowly and safely. Meeks turned around and noticed your slower pace. He stopped, allowing you to catch up.
“You don’t have to wait for me, I can follow you guys,” you say, eyes trained on the ground in front of you.
“It’s fine. I don’t mind,” Meeks says, a smile plastered on his face. His smile always got you. You could be angry or annoyed with Meeks, but the minute he flashed his smile, all of it would melt away. In your admiration, you overlook the large tree root in front of you, and your foot gets stuck, causing you to stumble forward. Before your face hit the dirt, you feel two hands wrap under your arms. When you finally get your footing back, you come face-to-face with Meeks. He flashes you a smirk.
“Don’t you dare,” you warn.
“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Meeks says, but the smirk on his face says otherwise.
You try to step back, but he’s still holding you—his hands warm on your arms, your breath mingling in the cold air between you. The realization hits him a second too late. His expression flickers: smug to startled to flustered.
“Oh—sorry,” he stammers, immediately letting go and raking a nervous hand through his hair. “I just—uh—didn’t want you to face-plant.”
Your cheeks burn.“No, no, it’s fine. I appreciate it, thank you.”
“Anytime,” he replies, softly.
You both stand there for another moment, neither quite sure what to do. The others are already far ahead, their voices faint through the trees.
“You, um… wanna walk with me?” Meeks asks.
“I thought I already was.”
He gives a breathy laugh, then holds out his hand a little awkwardly—like he didn’t thoroughly think the gesture through until it was already happening.
“I mean—just so you don’t trip again,” he mutters.
“Right,” you say, rolling your eyes playfully. You reach out and tangle your fingers with his. His hand is surprisingly warm considering how cold it is. The walk is quiet, only the occasional sound of joy coming from the boys ahead cutting through the silent woods. Your eyes are trained on the ground, watching each step as you take it. You look up for a brief moment, and Meeks’ eyes are looking over at you. They widen before he looks forward. You laugh quietly, and from his side profile, you see his lip turn up in a shy grin.
The glow of the firelight flickers between the trees as you and Meeks round the final bend. Laughter echoes faintly from the cave entrance. The others are already settling in, their silhouettes dancing on the cave walls. Meeks reluctantly lets go of your hand as you step inside, though his fingers linger a half-second longer. The warmth disappears too fast, and you’re surprised at how much you miss it.
Charlie looks up the moment he sees you. “Welcome,” he says dramatically, arms spread wide. “To the Dead Poets Society.”
The boys clap softly, a quiet ritual. Pitts passes the worn poetry book to Neil, the one they all treat like a holy relic. You settle on a dry patch of stone beside Meeks. Neil reads the club's introduction, then sits back down and passes the book to Charlie. Meeks keeps stealing quick, nervous glances at you.
Keating’s lessons echo faintly in your memory: Find the verse that speaks to you.
Charlie begins with a short piece, something humorous. Laughter bounces off the stone walls. Then Pitts picks out a longer piece about nature and the trees. It was quite sentimental, not something you’d expect from him, but he did a good job at reciting it.
Then it’s Meeks’ turn.
You feel him stiffen beside you. Charlie hands him the book, teasing, “Don’t pick something with too many big words. We don’t want a repeat of last time.”
Meeks rolls his eyes but flips through the pages carefully, his thumb smoothing the edges. Then he pauses on the one he’d been looking for.
He swallows, glancing at you once, a flick of copper curls and nerves, before standing.
“This one’s, uh… one I found recently that, uh… resonates with me.
He reads, voice low and echoing in the lantern-lit cave:
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
The cave goes silent when he finishes. Your cheeks flush a deep red. Meeks often read things aloud in class, but this was different. There was a passion in his voice that echoed against the cave’s walls. It wasn’t until he was done that the shyness crept back in. He closed the book and cleared his throat awkwardly.
“That’s… that’s it. Thanks.”
He sat back down next to you, holding his breath, waiting for someone to say something.
Charlie burst to his feet. “WOO!” he cheered, giving him a standing ovation. “Look at Meeks! Who knew Stevie had feelings?”
The others laughed and joined in, applauding, hooting louder than necessary. Meeks groaned softly into his hands.
Neil grinned. “Seriously, that was incredible. You should read like that more often.”
Knox elbowed him. “Yeah, who knew our boy was such a romantic? Should we start calling you Shakespeare?”
Todd nodded shyly from the corner. “It was… really good,” he added, which somehow made Meeks even redder.
Charlie slung an arm around Meeks’s shoulder, shaking him lightly back and forth. “What’s next, huh? Gonna bring roses to meetings now?”
Meeks sputtered. “Charlie—no! It was just a poem!”
“Sure,” Neil said lightly, teasing but kind. “But you read it like you meant every word.”
Pitts hummed dramatically. “Mhm. Of course. Just literature. Absolutely nothing else.”
Meeks looked like he wanted the cave floor to swallow him whole.
You bit back a smile, clapping quietly.
~
The semester continued, and you continued attending Dead Poets Society meetings, hanging out with the boys, and getting closer to Meeks. You were almost always together, whether it was during class, at lunch, or in the library; the two of you became inseparable. You were either in his dorm or yours, studying, hanging out, or working silently. Any chance to be together, you took.
It was quickly approaching finals week, and it was hell. You studied all day, every day, to prepare, and you were still overwhelmed. Today, you finally hit your breaking point with trig, of course. You stare at the numbers and equations, and all they do is stare back at you. Nothing was clicking, and you were slowly losing faith in passing the final. You were overwhelmed and overworked, and nothing was sticking. Your breath started to quicken, and you couldn’t suck in enough air. Tears began to fall, leaving wet spots on the paper. In a panic, you rush out of your dorm, practically running down the halls, ending up at none other than Meeks’ dorm.
You knock once, trying to keep it together in the hallway. You hear shuffling around before the door swings open. Meeks stands there in his sweater and rolled-up sleeves, pencil tucked behind his ear, eyes brightening—until he sees your face.
His whole expression shifts.
“Hey,” he says gently, stepping closer. “What’s wrong?”
You inhale to answer, but the moment you see him—really see him, safe and solid and familiar—your throat closes. A tiny gasp escapes you, and then suddenly everything you’d been holding back crumbles in your hands.
Tears spill over before you can stop them.
“Oh—oh, hey, hey,” Meeks whispers. His hands settle, one on your shoulder, the other guiding you inside with careful pressure. “Come here. It’s okay. You’re okay.”
Once you make it inside, the hyperventilating starts again, and you crumble. You hit the floor, hands shaking, breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
“I—I can’t—Meeks, I can’t—” you stammer, words tumbling out too fast. “I’m gonna fail—my parents are gonna be so mad—I don’t belong at Welton—I’m so stupid—I can’t do this—I—I.”
“Hey, hey—no,” Meeks drops to his knees in front of you instantly, gently taking your face in both hands. His thumbs sweep across your cheeks, wiping tears you didn’t even feel fall.
“Look at me,” he murmurs. “Please.”
You try—your breathing jagged and uneven—but his steady gaze finds you, holds you.
“You’re not stupid,” he says softly but firmly. “You’re not failing. You’re overwhelmed. That’s all. Breathe with me, okay? I’ve got you. You’re alright.”
His thumbs rub back and forth across your cheeks, soothing you. Your breaths slow just a fraction, enough that your chest loosens enough to suck in a full breath of air.
“That’s it,” he whispers. “I’m right here. You’re safe.”
You let your eyes flutter shut, taking bigger, deeper breaths until your heart finally slows down to normal. You press your palms over your eyes and let out a long, exhausted groan.
Then, without meaning to, a small laugh slips out of you. It surprises both of you.
Meeks tilts his head. “What… was that?”
You laugh again—wet and messy and half-delirious. “I just—” You wipe your face with your sleeve. “I can’t believe I’m losing my mind over trig. God, Welton really is just… Hellton. This school is evil.”
He snorts. Actually snorts.
Then he laughs—quietly at first, then harder when you start laughing with him. The two of you sit there on the floor as the panic dissolves into something warm and ridiculous.
“God, I’m having a breakdown over…over numbers! Dumb, stupid numbers.” The laughter continues, replacing the ache in your chest with warmth.
Meeks shakes his head, still chuckling. “You’re… you’re ridiculous.”
“You’re ridiculous too!” you shoot back, grinning. “I mean, you actually find trig…fun? How is that even possible?”
He laughs again. “I… I don’t. Not really. I just…get it?”
“Oh, Mr. Smartypants just gets everything. Never struggled once in his life,” You mock him, shoving him playfully.
He grins, mock offense flashing across his face. “Hey! That’s not fair—I’ve had my battles!”
“You?” you laugh, poking him again. “You? You’re literally perfect at everything.”
“Perfect? Hardly!” he protests, grabbing your wrists gently to stop you from shoving him again. “I just… I just pay attention. That’s all!”
“Oh really?” you tease, twisting free and lightly flicking his arm. “Sure, that’s all! You don’t even know what it’s like to actually freak out over trig!”
His eyes twinkle mischievously. “Oh, you wanna test me?” He lunges lightly, trying to grab your shoulders. You squeal, dodging him, and shove back, both of you laughing so hard your sides ache. Soon you’re rolling around on the floor, laughing, shoving, and trying to pin each other in a playful wrestle. His hair falls into his eyes, and yours sticks damp to your forehead from laughing so hard.
Finally, he pins you gently. The laughter dies down, and both your breaths slow. You both realize the position you're in. Meeks flushes dark red, lets you go, and sits up, back against his bedframe, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh… wow,” he mutters, voice cracking slightly. “I… uh… didn’t mean—”
You grin, still breathless, feeling the teasing tension linger. “Didn’t mean what?”
He looks away, embarrassed, hands fidgeting in his lap. “I… I don’t know… I just… I shouldn’t—”
You sit up and move next to him. You reach out, gently brushing your hand against his. “It’s okay,” you murmur.
His eyes flick up to yours. He leans in slightly, lips hovering just a breath away from yours. You can feel the heat of his cheeks, the nervous energy radiating off him.
“I…I don’t wanna, uh—you were upset and—”
You lean in and kiss him, cutting him off. He’s shocked for a moment, completely still. You almost pull away from fear of reading the situation wrong, until he snaps out of his daze and kisses you back. It's messy and awkward, his glasses hitting your cheeks, and neither of you is quite sure where to put your hands, but it’s perfect. As you continue, the awkwardness fades away, and the two of you get more confident. He pulls you into his lap, his hands resting on your hips. Your hands trail up his neck, tangling in his curls.
“Hey Meeks, I got the radio to—WOAH SORRY!” Pitts says, walking into the room.
You and Meeks pull apart instantly, both of you blinking and gasping. You scramble off of him onto the floor. His glasses are crooked, your hair is sticking to your cheek, and your hearts are still pounding.
Pitts stands frozen in the doorway, holding the radio, wide-eyed. “Uh… I—oh… sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
Meeks clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck, still flushed. “It’s… uh… it’s fine, Pitts. Just… give us a minute?”
Pitts nods quickly, looking a little awkward but not upset. “Right, right… of course. I’ll… I’ll come back,” he says, stepping back toward the door. “Congrats…uh—yeah.”
“Thanks,” Meeks says, not sure how to respond. The door closes behind him with a soft click.
You lean up against his bed, brushing hair out of your face and laughing nervously, still breathless. “Well… that was something,” you murmur.
Meeks adjusts his glasses, cheeks pink, and exhales a shaky laugh. “Yeah… definitely something,” he agrees, eyes flicking to yours. Slowly, he reaches out, fingers intertwining with yours.
Meeks leans back against his bed, still flustered but smiling gently. “We… maybe should… um… just be careful next time. Maybe your room,” he murmurs, thumb brushing yours.
You laugh softly, resting your head lightly against his shoulder. “Next time,” you whisper.
He squeezes your hand, still smiling, his forehead almost touching yours. “Yeah… next time.”
For a moment, it’s just the two of you—safe, warm, and completely together in the quiet of his room.
“THEY DID WHAT?!” Charlie’s scream echoes from down the hallway.
The two of you look at each other, and for the second time of the night, burst into laughter.
Songfic based on bad idea by girl in red, loosely. Reader is a final year university student and often frequents the Weathervane for their impeccable coffee (it’s just for the free Wi-Fi). Larissa is the principal of Nevermore academy and often frequents the Weathervane for their impeccable coffee (it’s just for the peace and quiet).
Or
Two dumb gays in love and Marilyn meddles.
Huge thank you to @h-doodles who majorly helped me with the plotline with this one. Honestly cannot thank you enough, I hope it meets your expectations :) <3
-
It was a typical Thursday Morning for you, early enough for the Weathervane to be open, which meant you could claim a booth and work on your thesis statement. Typically, the weathervane was a quite café but for some reason, today it was packed and there was no seating available elsewhere.
Just as you had frequented the café, there was also an extremely tall lady, with ocean blue eyes and always wearing pristine clothing. You would often catch her eyes and she would smile at you, which would make you feel like you were going to faint. God, to see that smile in the morning would give you enough motivation to get through the day, and you would yearn for it long after she was gone.
Almost as if your thoughts had summoned her, in she stepped, noticing how busy it was and she approached the counter, giving her order. Her order is placed in front of her, and you notice her eyes wander around the café and eventually her eyes lock with yours.
You do your best to hide the fact you were staring by turning your focus onto your laptop, a flush growing on your cheeks.
“Hello.” You hear a British accent say and you look up, almost fainting because the woman who you had just been staring at has approached you. Oh my god, she’s British. “Is there any chance I could share a booth with you? Its quite busy in here today.”
“Oh- Yeah, of course, I don’t mind!” You say, probably too enthaustically, but she doesn’t comment and instead you decide to offer up your name “I’m Y/N.” You smile.
The woman smiles wider at you, “Larissa.” She returns, and you feel your face flush. Oh my god, even her name is ethereal. You grin as you turn back and begin to type away.
Moment’s pass, before your eyes raise to see Larissa watching you curiously, and you feel yourself blushing. Larissa takes a sip of her drink before nodding her head to your laptop.
“What are you working on?” Larissa enquires, as her eyes crinkle with her smile. You nearly stop breathing at the realization that she’s speaking to you.
“Me? Oh, uhm, nothing interesting, just my thesis statement for Uni.” You smile and Larissa rolls her eyes lightly with a smirk.
“Of course, it’s not interesting, otherwise you wouldn’t be staring at me every time I come in.” Larissa teases and you feel your ears grow hot, and your eyes grow wide in shock.
“Oh, sorry! I mean no offence!” You say urgently, realizing you’re probably embarrassing yourself even. You try to focus back on your laptop, hoping the floor will swallow you up. Larissa lightly pushes your laptop so its half closed.
“Oh, believe me, it’s quite the compliment actually.” She states with a smile before chuckling. “Gosh, its going to sound rather silly but sometimes, I hope to see you staring to figure out if I’ve made the right outfit choice.”
You’re certain if you blush anymore, you will faint. “Oh, I bet you’d still look good in a trash bag.” You manage to say before you can stop yourself and Larissa chuckles, and you smile yourself.
“Well, Y/N, thank you for that wonderful insight. I’m sure my wardrobe will thank you.” Larissa smiles before checking her watch. “I suppose it’s time for me to leave. Goodluck with your thesis, Y/N.”
Larissa stands to leave and begins to turn away and looks at you again, “You’ll be here tomorrow?” She asks and all you can do is nod.
-
Friday morning couldn’t have come quicker for you, and you excitedly sit down in your booth, jittering with excitement as you see Larissa enter. You lock eyes with her, and she smiles at you from across the café. You open your laptop and at least try to pretend that you are focused on something other than her.
Larissa grabs her order and sits opposite you in your booth, and you smile at each other.
“Morning.” You smile, looking up from your laptop and Larissa is wearing a sage green dress with a golden chain necklace, complete with a golden watch and you swear you can faint. “I suppose you didn’t feel like wearing a trash bag today, huh?” You joke, your face flushing.
Larissa chuckles lightly and she has you enchanted by the sound. She takes a sip from a drink as she raises her brow at you.
“Oh please, you’re too nice to me.” Larissa states and you take a sip of your own coffee before you close your laptop. Larissa looks at you questioningly, “Off for the day?”
“Oh, no. I’m gonna be here for a while but there’s no point in pretending anything else has my attention when you’re sitting in front of me.” You grin, you have no idea where the confidence has come from, but you decide that since Larissa has decided to sit with you for a second time, it’s the confidence you need.
Larissa chuckles again and smirks at you again. “Careful, you might convince me to never leave.”
You grin at her cheekily, you’re sure your cheeks are flushed but you decide to ignore and begin to speak, “you say that as if it’s a bad thing. Perhaps I don’t want you to.” You say, and Larissa smiles before taking another sip.
“You never told me what your thesis was on.” She states and shuffles somewhat close to you, and you look down at your laptop before looking back up at her.
“Like I said yesterday, nothing too interesting. But I’m currently writing about Rene Descartes influence on modern philosophy, seeing as some consider him the father of modern philosophy.” You say and roll your eyes.
“Ah, and this does not interest you?” Larissa questions, her hands finding themselves onto the table.
“It’s not so much that it doesn't interest me, but I am not too keen on modern philosophies, I know, I know, they paved the way for society today, especially with the way he connected geometry and Algebra, but I suppose at heart, I’m more of an ancient Greek gal.” You say with a light grin, and Larissa looks intently at you, a light smile on her lips. “Sorry, I’m boring you.” You say, and Larissa’s hand reaches out to touch your arm.
“No, I find it quite refreshing how passionate you are.” Larissa states and her hand doesn’t move from your arm, you grin up at her.
“Soo, what about you? What do you do?” You ask and Larissa smiles a tight smile before looking up at you.
“I’m the principal of Nevermore academy.” She says proudly and she watches as your eyebrows furrow together, and she removes her hand from your arm, anticipating some sort of backlash.
“Nevermore? I don’t think I’ve—Oh! Nevermore, the academy for outcasts? Wait, sorry, is outcast the right word? I dunno if I got that right, erm but yeah, I’m sorry if that’s offensive! But also, principal? That’s awesome!” You say, and watch as Larissa breathes a sigh of relief, and you eye her curiously.
“Yes, outcast is the correct term. Although, some would not consider it ‘awesome’, but I suppose that’s their problem.” Larissa states and you look at her.
“Some people just like hating people.” You state, “Like how some people hate me cause I’m gay, but I think that sort of hate just makes you more accepting. But you being the principal of Nevermore academy is awesome.” You smile comfortingly, as you place your hand hesitantly onto Larissa’s.
Larissa checks her watch and frowns before looking at you. “I’m sorry, darling but its time for me to go back to the academy.” Larissa says before standing, “May I see your phone?” She asks and you nod, handing her your unlocked phone, she types in something before handing it back to you with a smile.
“You have my number now, message me if you get bored with your thesis. I hope I can help with the boredom.” Larissa smiles, hesitating slightly before placing a kiss on your cheek. She then begins to leave, looking over her shoulder before waving with a smile.
Okay, so she called you darling, and then kissed your cheek, and THEN gave you, her number. You can die happily now.
-
You submit your thesis statement draft Friday evening and take out your phone to find the contact Larissa saved. You click onto it and begin to type out a message.
‘I submitted my thesis draft.’ You type and send almost immediately, excited to finally have a reason to message Larissa.
You see the read icon almost immediately and then the typing icon. You stay on the chat and watch intently as the typing icon appears and disappears three times before the message comes through.
‘Does this mean I won’t see your beautiful face in the morning now?’ Is the response and you squeal, squeal. Squeal at the response. You begin to type out your response.
‘No, luckily for you, and unluckily for me, it was only the draft, I still have to submit the real thing ☹’ You type back ‘Plenty of boredom on my part still, and many mornings left in the weathervane.’
‘I suppose you’re not too busy to attend the Harvest festival with me next weekend?’ Is what Larissa says and you swear you feel as if you can faint, this woman is too much and you love it.
‘only if you promise I can win you a prize.’ You respond and there is a grin on your face.
-
The weekend and week pass quite quickly and eventually the day of the harvest festival arrives. You and Larissa had been in the Weathervane nearly every single morning, except for Sunday, because you decided to take the day to have a break, due to Larissa’s encouragement.
You are dressed already, after much changing and tweaking but you decided on your final outfit change that it would have to do otherwise you would drive yourself crazy.
You pull out your phone and begin to type out a message to Larissa ‘hey, did you want to meet out front?’
You place your shoes on and feel your phone vibrate in your pocket. You look to see Larissa has messaged ‘Nonsense, I’m outside yours, we can walk there together.’
Your stomach does butterflies as you almost sprint to your front door and open it and see Larissa standing there holding two cups of coffee. You shut your door as you look up at her and nearly choke on your own breath.
She’s wearing a light green dress that cuts off just off above her knee, hugging her in all the right places, and a matching jacket, her hair pinned up in its usual pristine style.
“Hi.” You say, nervously shuffling on your feet and Larissa smiles lightly before stepping closer and handing you your coffee before kissing you on your cheek.
“Hi, sweetheart.” She smiles, as she pulls back. Your cheeks feel hot, and you look up at her through your eyelashes. “You look absolutely divine.”
“Me?” You manage to say, before looking down at your feet, “What about you?” You ask.
Larissa’s hand cups underneath your chin, as she brings your eyes up to meet hers, a smirk playing on her lips “Where’s the shyness come from, darling? Did I make the right outfit choice?”
“You look like a goddess.” You say, and Larissa grins down at you. You move your eyes away from hers and Larissa lets go of your chin.
“A goddess? That’s a new one.” She smiles and takes your hand into hers as you begin to walk. “Is that from all your university study? Is that where you’ve learnt to sweet talk?”
“Oh, no, it’s not sweet talk if it’s the truth.” You smile shyly up at Larissa and she grins at you, before taking a sip of her own coffee.
-
It’s a few hours into the night and you and Larissa have been endlessly flirting, lingering touches, longing looks.
You manage to catch a glimpse of a game booth that would let you win prizes, and you grab Larissa’s hand and excitedly pull her towards it, and you look back at her with a grin.
“I believe I promised to win you a prize.” You say and Larissa’s arm wraps around your shoulder.
“You don’t have spend so much time trying to win me a prize, when you’re already here next to me.” Larissa states and you look at her, and bite your lip, trying to ignore the heat that flushed throughout your body.
“I promised.” You repeat and Larissa’s eyes soften as she lets you wander off to the stall. She watches as you speak to the man running the booth and laugh along with him, and you look back towards her with a grin. She’s standing a distance away from you, not wanting to approach, content in watching your excitement.
She watches as the man hands you the throwing balls and you throw the first one, knocking down nearly half off the cans down. She watches as you grin and look back towards her and Larissa cannot help the yearn in her heart.
Your second throw leaves only one can left, and she watches how your tongue sticks out in concentration on your last throw and Larissa grins as you get the last can on the last throw, you jump excitedly and the man running the booth allows you to pick out your prize.
You throw another glance towards Larissa with a smile as you pick out your prize, her prize, and hide it behind your back as you make your way back towards her.
“That was impressive.” Larissa grins and you look up at her with a huge smile. You move your hands from behind your back, showing two matching bear keychains.
“I picked this cause, even if I’m not with you, or you’re not with me, you’ll see it and be reminded of me.” You say and hold out one to her, keeping the other for yourself.
Larissa doesn’t say anything as she takes the keychain from your hand and stares at for a moment before her hand is on your cheek and crashing your lips together.
You respond to the kiss immediately, and Larissa’s hands find your hips before she pulls away and rests her forehead against yours.
“I think we should go back to yours.” She says, slightly out of breath and you nod in agreement, speechless over this woman.
-
When you wake the next morning, Larissa’s arms are wrapped around your waist and you smile softly before checking the time. 07:04am. You shuffle so you’re facing Larissa and she looks even more beautiful than you could have imagined. Her hair is undone from it’s usual style, laying bare into the pillows underneath it, her face is bare from any makeup and you’re close enough to see every freckle that has graced her face.
Larissa stirs slightly before opening her eyes and looking at you. “Morning, sweetheart.” She says, her voice laced in sleep. Her hand reaches up to your cheek and she places a light kiss to your lips. “Do you know what the time is?”
“Oh, its just passed 7.” You say, leaning into Larissa’s touch. Larissa’s eyes widen in shock before she’s making her way out your bed quickly, speeding to pick up her clothes that are strewn about from the previous. “What’s wrong?”
“I have a meeting with the mayor at 8! Did you see where I put my phone?” She asks and you take it from the nightstand and hand it to her. “Thank you.”
There is a slight nervousness to her nature that you shrug off due to her being late, you get out of the bed and watch as she gets dressed quickly, amazed at how she can pull herself together so quickly.
“Where are you meeting him?” You ask Larissa, standing in front behind her as she uses your mirror to fix her hair into its usual style. She turns back to look at you, her hands pausing their movements.
“At a café in Burlington, I left my car at the academy, so I’ll have to get a taxi.” Larissa says, stepping closer to you. “I’ll message you.” She says, before kissing your cheek and leaving.
-
Days pass and you have yet to hear anything back from Larissa. You had left her a message, in which she had just read and not responded. You take the hint, no matter how much it hurts, and you do not attempt to message her.
It’s Wednesday morning and you’re sitting in your usual booth. You notice how Larissa hasn’t come in during the mornings anymore. You sigh lightly as you take out your flash drive and spare a glance to the bear keychain you had attached to it.
A shadow darkens your laptop and you feel hope swell in your chest, at the possibility of it being Larissa but as you see another figure, a lady in which you hadn’t seen before at this time of the morning, who had red hair and was wearing glasses, along with a baby blue cardigan over a summery dress. You smile lightly.
“Hi.” She says, almost nervously. “May I sit here?” She asks, and you look around the café and notice hoe the seating is unusually full. You nod and smile. “I’m Marilyn.”
“Y/N.” You return, with a shy smile. You try to focus on your work but notice the lady, Marilyn, staring at you. You bring your eyes up to meet hers and she smiles softly.
“What are you working on, Y/N?” Marilyn asks and you look at your laptop. Déjà vu from the first time you and Larissa spoke. You frown lightly and look back towards her.
“Just my thesis for Uni.” You return, shortly. You don’t mean to come across as rude but you know that the last time you had been nice to someone sitting with you at the booth, you had a one night stand, and she avoided you since.
Yet, your heart still yearned for. Marilyn’s eyebrows furrow together as she watches you together, throwing a glance at your bear keychain.
“I hope you don’t mind my saying so, but you seem quite upset.” Marilyn states and you bite the inside of your cheeks. “I mean, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to but since I’m just a stranger, it might be nice to talk about.” Marilyn shrugs lightly, taking a sip of her drink, and you notice it in a to go cup.
You sigh, contemplating and decide that it would be nice to talk about it. “I, uh, met someone. I thought we were getting along great, we went to the harvest festival together, she kissed me, and then we went back to mine together. I haven’t heard from her since, haven’t seen her since even though she usually comes here in the morning.” You admit, and Marilyn looks at you comfortingly.
“I have a friend, who’s in somewhat of a similar situation.” Marilyn states, “Well, not exactly the same, kind of the opposite, and she’s the avoider. But she did so for a reason.”
You close your laptop and look at Marilyn whose hands are resting on the table and Marilyn smiles softly, looking at you with warm eyes.
“What reason would that be?” You ask, taking a sip of your drink, before avoiding her eyes.
“Well, see the person she was seeing was quite a bit younger than her, and after they got together, she just felt insecure about her age, about the difference in the stages of their lives. I mean, my friend has her career and knows that she wants to stay in her job for the rest of her life, but she confessed to me that the person she was seeing hasn’t even finished studying yet. She’s scared that this person won’t wanna be with her once she realizes the difference.” Marilyn says and you watch her, your eyes feel as if they’re growing wet. You don’t say anything immediately, noticing the similarities.
“Well, has she asked the person she’s seeing? Cause, you know, the woman I was seeing was quite the bit older than me and that was never a problem for me.” You shrug before sighing again. “Guess she just wanted some fun. It was a bad idea.”
Marilyn nods along, listening to what you say before checking her phone for the time. “I’ve gotta go now, will you be here tomorrow?" She asks and you nod.
-
A week passes and you and Marilyn become quite close friends, often giving each other separate advice. It’s evening time for as you type away on your laptop, its nearing closing time but you have just one more argument to write before you can leave.
You hear the door to the café open and you look up, seeing Larissa enter. Almost immediately, her eyes are locking with yours and you look back at your laptop, saving the file and closing it up before you get up to leave.
You make it halfway to the exit before you hear your name being called. “Y/N!” Larissa says, taking long strides, and you look back towards her, moving back slightly as she stands in front of you.
“Oh, hi.” You say, before pulling out your phone, pretending to check the time. “I’ve got to go, but it was nice seeing you.” You say, with a fake smile.
You turn around and leave the café, making sure you do not glance back, yet you yearn to, to turn around and you hope that Larissa will call out your name, but your heart drops as you walk down the street, and she still hasn’t called out your name.
You feel used. You feel sad and used. Did what you have mean nothing to you?
Unbeknownst to you, Larissa watches you leave, her hands gripping onto the keychain you had won for her, her cheeks growing wet as she realizes how much she has hurt you.
-
The weekend arrives and Marilyn invites you out to a bar, just for a friendly drink she had said. You enter the bar, which lighting is low and you notice Marilyn is at the bar, grabbing drinks and you approach her with a small grin.
“Hi, Marilyn.” You smile and Marilyn grins at you, looking up at you from over her glasses. You notice her taking two drinks from the bartender and thanking him, you furrow your eyebrows at her in confusion as Marilyn smiles.
“Hi, Y/N. I hope you don’t mind, but I invited another one of my friends.” Marilyn smirks, and hands you one of the drinks she has ordered. It’s a glass of red wine and you smile at her taking a sip.
“That’s fine, any friend of yours is a friend of mine.” You smile, and Marilyn grins as she leads you to a table, your eyes are more focused on the bar, and you almost bump into Marilyn as she stops, grinning like a fool as she looks at you.
You move your eyes to the table and to your absolute surprise, Larissa is sitting there is a low-cut dress and her usual golden chain. She stands once she sees you. “Y/N.” She says and you look at her.
“Hi, Larissa.” You say, slightly tense, and Marilyn places her drink on the table. She shuffles slightly before speaking.
“I see you two have already met, which is great because I need the bathroom.” She grins and she rushes away.
“Wait, Marilyn!” You call after her, and she ignores you, as she walks through a crowd. You look back to Larissa and swallow. Jesus, even when you’re mad at her, she still has the ability to make you speechless. You frown as you connect the dots. “You’re the friend Marilyn was telling me about?” You ask, and Larissa steps closer to you. You don’t back away this time, and Larissa takes this a win.
“So that means, you are also the friend that Marilyn was telling me about.” Larissa says and her eyes soften. Her hands find yours slowly, in fear of you pulling away. You don’t and Larissa breathes a sigh of relief before speaking, “I never wanted to use you for fun, Y/N. I just—What I felt- what I feel- is very real and I was scared you’d think I was too old for you.”
You step closer to Larissa, looking up at her through your eyelashes. “I never would have thought that.” You say softly, and Larissa removes her hands from yours, placing them onto your hips. “I was, I am, falling for you, Larissa. You hurt me.” You say, and your cheeks grow hot as Larissa’s grip on you tightens.
“I am sorry, sweetheart. It was never my intention. But after I left yours in a hurry, I thought, I thought, you wouldn’t want to see me because of the workload I have, and I though you might’ve wanted more excitement.” Larissa says, her face coming closer to yours, “But, I have to admit that I am falling- No, I am in love with you, I’m in love with the excitement that radiates from you, the shyness that have when you see me, the passion you have for university, and the I love you.” Larissa confesses, her breath tickiling your lips.
You breath hitches as you close your eyes, before opening them again to see Larissa’s ocean blue eyes staring into your soul. “I’m in love with you too. I love hoe passionate you are about your career, I love how much you care about your students, I love the way you always make me feel so nervous.” You say and Larissa brings your lips together, in a soft, caring, loving, passionate kiss.
You eventually pull away and rest your foreheads together. In the distance you hear Marilyn yell. You both look over towards her as she’s grinning madly before she shouts, “I did it!”
You and Larissa look at each other before giggling.
You were always a little worried about what Steve thinks about your body, being that he's from a time when it wasn't generally accepted or seen as desirable. But let me tell you, you have nothing to worry about, and he will make that fact known to you as many times as needed until you believe it. He won't give up on you.
His favorite thing about your body is likely how soft it is-- hear me out. Steve is constantly on the go. His missions are long and taxing, usually leaving him dirty, sweaty, and exhausted, both physically and mentally. So, to be able to come home to his favorite woman in the world and lose himself in her soft, comforting warmth is heaven to him.
He'll just lay there with you wrapped up in his arms as he intently listens to you talk about your day, silently reveling in your presence.
He's very supportive. He will always encourage you to wear what makes you feel happy and comfortable. Don't think even for a second that he would try to steer you away from clothing options that "aren't fit for your body type."
Steve will NOT tolerate people talking down to you. He's not an ill-tempered man, but if he hears someone say something negative about you like that, he won't hesitate to bite.
You can always tell, too, just by his hardened expression and clenched jaw alone. Then he'll say something that makes the insulter feel like they've been pinned against the ground like a bug and can't answer without taking responsibility for their disgusting behavior.
"Wanna repeat that for me?" / "What's that supposed to mean?" / "Did you say something?"
His tone says he's calm, but his eyes are saying otherwise.
It doesn't really matter where you are, if he's sitting next to you, his hand will be on your thigh. It's a comfort thing for him. You'll occasionally feel a gentle squeeze now and then when he needs that extra bit of support. To feel you beside him a little more.
Loooves hugging you from behind and pushing his face into the crook of your neck, feeling your soft curves press against him.
He can pick you up with ease. All those other dudes with their weak little muscles ought to be ashamed cause this man can and will pick you up and carry you over his shoulder without any strain whatsoever.
Many of your nights will be spent curled up next to him, his strong arms securely wrapped around you and his chin resting atop your head while he murmers every little thing he loves about you in your ear. His hands roam your plush body, not in lust, but rather in a loving caress that perfectly translates his feelings in a way that surpasses even his words.
There's something about your stretch marks that almost fascinate him. If you'll let him, he'll spend a bit of time just tracing them over, enjoying the feel of them beneath the pads of his fingers
Steve is a gentleman. However, that man is not immune to seeing your shorts do that thing where they ride up your thighs a little when you sit down. He tries very hard not to let it take his mind to disrespectful places, but MAN--
Cellulite? He loves it.
Squishy sides? He loves that, too.
Plush arms? Can't get enough of them.
If you were to ever tell him that you wanted to lose weight, he'd support you all the way, so long as your motivations aren't harmful to yourself, physically or mentally. He would even help you get started, showing you better food options and some basic beginner level workouts.
But, when it comes down to it, Steve loves you because you're you. Whether you're chubby, mid-size, or slim, he loves you, and nothing could ever change that.
Notes: Heyyyy! It's been a while, I fear. This newest part is all thanks to @Giahedbarfe on Ao3. So everyone, say thank you! I wanted to leave this as a one-shot and kinda forget about it. These last few weeks have been really rough for me writing-wise. I have had no motivation, and all the work I started has NOT been inspiring. Then I got a comment from the lovely @Giahedbarfe, and they asked very nicely for a sequel. Something about that got the juices flowing, and here it is! It's not as long as the first part, but I hope people enjoy the story's finale. I will DEFINITELY be writing more Dead Poets stuff (especially Meeks bc he is my boy), so look forward to that. Love you all very much <3
Part 1
Word count: 1.4k
“COME ON! WE’RE GOING TO BE LATE!” Marissa yells from outside your dorm room.
“I’m coming!” you say, putting the final touches on your hair and makeup in front of your little mirror. You couldn’t get your tassel to hang right; it was either in your eyes or bunched up in your hair, and it was driving you crazy.
“You look beautiful, babe, stop fussing,” Lily says, as if she can see you through the door.
You sigh, do one more once over, and smile at yourself. The last four years flew by faster than you realized they would. You learned, you laughed, and you loved (a lot).
Someone bangs on your door one more time. “Coming!”
~
The football field is full of graduating seniors, surrounded by friends and family in the stands. Around you, everyone is anxiously waiting for their time to walk the stage. Your eyes wandered, looking for someone. Lily notices and giggles, nudging your arm. You look over and follow her finger to a mop of red hair sitting a few rows in front of you. His eyes were focused on the stage, at the random speaker, like he always was. Just like you’d found him back at Welton. As if he could sense your eyes on him, he turns around in his seat.
Your Meeks. The boy you’d been in love with since your third year at Welton. His eyes soften, and a smile creeps across his face. You give him a small wave, which he reciprocates with a smile and a wink.
You feel your face flushing. Steven had become much bolder in your years together. The almost six years changed both of you for the better, from awkward teenagers to confident adults. And yet, looking at Steven still made you weak in the knees, and he was just as smitten with you, too. Your friends made fun of the two of you for it, but you both knew there was no one else you’d rather be with.
College has been challenging for both of you. Steven majored in mechanical engineering, and you majored in psychology. He was very smart, but there had been many a late night spent quizzing him for his calculus class or his thermodynamics seminar. He was committed to his work, sometimes too committed. You had to practically drag him out of his dorm and away from his textbooks on the weekends to experience the social side of college. But, at the end of the day, he always made time for you, no matter what.
For you, it took a lot of work to be respected in your field. You were one of the few women in your classes, and your professors made it obvious that they either didn’t believe in your intellect or didn’t spare you a second glance. There were days you spent in offices, trying to connect with professors, or arguing about grades. The worst of those days ended in you crying in Steven’s arms, debating dropping out. He was always there for you, just as you were always there for him.
The sound of cheering snaps you out of your reminiscing. The speech was well over, and people had started walking across the stage. You watch each of your peers being rewarded for their hard work, cheering especially loudly for all your friends. Each of the \ Poets has their own little celebration as they walk the stage. Todd is first out of the group and sheepishly smiles at the crowd, giving a small wave to Neil, who is going nuts. Then Cameron waits until he gets to the end of the stage and clicks his heels. Charlie is surprisingly tame and only salutes with his signature smirk out to the crowd.
After much anticipation, Steven crosses the stage. You stand up with the rest of the Poets, whooping and cheering. He thanks all the teachers and faculty on the stage, like the good student he is. At the end, he looks out to the crowd and finds you.
I love you, he mouths, his smile wide across his face.
I love you more, you mouth, tears threatening to fall.
The rest of the Poets shine with pure exuberance. Knox points to Chris up in the bleachers, Pitts thrusts his degree up in the air, and Neil yells out Carpe Diem.
Before long, it was your time to go up. Waiting in line, excitement, and anxiety swirl inside your heart. This marks the end of a chapter of your life. There’s still more school in your future, but this feels different. Things will change whether you like it or not, a scary but comforting fact. You take one last deep breath and step up to the stage. You hear your friends and family in the audience, which makes you smile. Being surrounded by so many supportive, loving people made your four years much more bearable. You shake hands with the dean as he hands you your degree, offering sincere congratulations. You shake everyone else’s hand and look out, finding your college friends and the Poets on their feet, cheering their heads off. Your eyes snap to the curly red hair. Behind his glasses, his eyes are watery, but he smiles widely and yells, “THAT’S MY GIRL,” loud enough for the entire audience to hear. You laugh and blow him a kiss before making your way back to your seat, wiping your own tears away.
Once everyone has received their diplomas, the Dean steps up to the podium. “Graduates, please rise. You may now move your tassels from the right to the left,” he says. Everyone stands and flips their tassels, and this time it lies perfectly next to your face. “Now, without further ado, I’d like to congratulate the new graduating class of ‘64.”
With that, caps go flying, and cheers are the loudest they’ve been all day. You pick up your cap and hug everyone around you, celebrating and promising to stay in touch. Then you make your way to the aisle, frantically searching for your boys. After a minute of wandering, you spot them in a large hug. You practically run toward them, calling out Steven’s name. He breaks away from the group in time to catch you. His hands wrap around you, twirling you in the air. Your lips meet, and he kisses you with such fervor that the boys whistle and clap.
“We did it, Stevie! We did it!” You cry as he sets you back down; his hands stay wrapped around you.
“Yeah, we did. I knew we would,” He says, his hand coming up to wipe tears away from your eyes.
“God, I love you so much,” you say, before pulling him back into a kiss. He kisses you back before pulling back, meeting your eyes, holding your hands in his.
“Darling,” he starts, taking a deep breath, “I have loved you since I first saw you in our trigonometry class in third year.” You laugh at the memory, reminiscing.
“You captured my heart, and it’s been yours ever since. I couldn’t have made it through Hellton and college without your love and your support.” His hand slides out of yours and into his back pocket.
“Steven? What are you–oh my god.” The tears start as he gets down on one knee.
“You walk in beauty, like the night of cloudless climes and starry skies. All that’s best of dark and bright. And on that cheek, and o’er that brow, so soft, so calm, yet eloquent. The smiles that win, the tints that glow. But tell of days in goodness spent, a mind at peace with all below. A heart whose love is innocent!” Your tears are hot as they run down your cheeks. The poem from the night in the cave. The night when you realized you loved Steven and Steven loved you just as much. He can barely keep it together as he continues, saying your full name. “Will you make me the happiest man in the world and marry me?”
“Yes! Yes, of course I will.” He slides the ring onto your finger, an heirloom passed down from your great-grandmother.
“Kiss her already!” Charlie shouts. Steven smiles and stands up, wrapping his arm around your waist and dipping you low into a kiss. The crowd around you erupts into cheers, claps, and whoops. This was exactly where you wanted to be. With the love of your life. With your best friends. At the start of a new chapter in your life.
could you do a blurb about late night talks (with the noodle boy) and he's like resting his head above your heart with his arms around your waist and just listening to the rain thIS IS ALL I NEEEEEED
((AHHHHHH OMF CUTE))
the rain poured against your bedroom window. you looked down at little lukeys head, resting on your chest and you smiled to yourself, listening to him talk. “do you think we’ll last forever?” he questioned. your heart sped up a little and apparently, luke felt it because he looked up at you, with a worried expression on his face. your eyes jolted to the raindrops pounding against the glass. “i hope so, baby.” you looked back at him and kissed his head. he blushed and nestled his head back into your chest, wrapping his long arms around your waist. “i don’t think you know how much i love you. like i seriously love you more than i’ve ever loved anything in the whole entire world, gorgeous.” luke started rambling which made you tear up a bit. after a moment of silence, his beautiful voice broke it with the muttered words of Disconnected. “lifes a tangled web..”
