#long blurb

[thefatedthoughtofyou]

Eddie Calls Wayne "Dad"

{ i 100% wrote this for @friendly-jester because it was their birthday and THEY DIDN'T TELL MEEEEEEE!!! so yeah this happened for them! Happy Belated birthday day yet again dearest!!! }

The first time Eddie calls Wayne "dad" he's 7 years old. He wakes to this small boy, teary eyed and shaking, clutching the little stuffed black cat Wayne had won him at the fair the first month he'd been here. His little hand on Wayne's shoulder wakes him. Warm and gentle. Almost too gentle. Wayne knows it's because he's afraid Wayne will get mad. He's only been here a year and half, and he's getting better. But he's still skittish. Wayne clears his thoat of sleep and blinks up at the boy.

"What is it son?" He calls him that all the time. He knows Eddie's not his. But he is. He is to Wayne. He is now. Eddie sniffles, wipes at his little nose with the back of his hand and says,

"I h-had a nightmare Daddy." And he's crawling up onto the cot with Wayne before Wayne has time to open his arms for him.

He scoots back, makes room for the kid. Throws his blanket back and then coveres them both back up as Eddie snuggles into his pillow. He holds the little cat up to Wayne. Wayne kisses it's head, like always, and Eddie smiles a teary smile, holding it close. He's already almost back to sleep. Wayne rubs at his head gently. Soothes him. And lowers his head back to his pillow, hand resting on Eddie's small shoulder as he falls back to sleep as well.

Eddie doesn't remember the nightmare in the morning. Just asks Wayne if he missed him when he wakes up in Wayne's bed. Wayne laughs and says,

"Yep kiddo. Missed you so much I had to bring ya in here with me."  And Eddie giggles, grabbing his cat and shuffling to his room.

But Wayne sees the look he gives him, a small sideways glance after the smile fades. Wayne's pretty sure Eddie remembers just fine. But he grew up, at least partly, he's not grown yet, in a house full of anger and secrets.

Wayne is sure Eddie is keeping things to himself because he doesn't want Wayne to have to worry. Wayne is also pretty sure that this boy is smarter than he could ever dream of being. He watches Eddie shuffle back out in his school clothes. Just a black t-shirt and black jeans. He rubs his hands over his eyes and pulls his shoes on. Sits at the table and eats the toast Wayne made in silence.

Wayne doesn't know what to say to him. Has never been much of a talker. So he sits silently too. And when he's finished he walks past Eddie, ruffles his hair, and asks him if he's ready for school. Eddie smiles brightly and grabs his backback, yelling something about how they're supposed to be learning about dragons today. Wayne is pretty sure he means dinosaurs, but Wayne had also been informed by a very stern Eddie that dinosaurs were just dragons without fire and wings.

~°~

The second time it happens is before the talent show. Eddie is nervous. Bouncing on the balls of his feet next to Gareth and Jeff as they watch the Cunningham girl do some cheer and gymnastics across the stage.  Eddie is watching her, but Wayne can tell he's only half paying attention. Wayne clears his throat from behind them, grabbing their attention. All three of them turn, Eddie's face lighting up when he sees Wayne, he bounds into his arms.

"You made it!" He whispers loudly into Wayne's shoulder as they collide. Wayne catches him easily. His arms wraping around Eddie, he's still so small, Wayne's not sure he'll grow much more. He hopes not. His mother was small too. He wants Eddie to have that from her. He smiles tho, giving him a squeeze.

"Almost didn't. Traffic was a bitch on 75." Wayne mutters. Eddie pulls back with a laugh, holding Wayne's shoulders.

"But you made it."

"I did." Wayne nods. Eddie smiles. The Cunningham girl's act ends, the curtains close. She comes running in their direction, bumping into Eddie and turning as she runs, calling out,

"Oh my gosh! I'm so sorry! Good luck out there!" And then she dissappears into a group of laughing girls. Eddie mutters a nervous 'thanks', holding his guitar in his hand, his knuckles are white. Wayne grabs a hold of his neck as Gareth and the others help get there stuff center stage. Eddie's eyes are wide, there's fear, but also excitement.

"You're gonna do great. And I know this is a long shot for you, but try to stay focused." He winks at Eddie, gets that huge smile in return. Eddie's missing a tooth. He'd told Wayne it had just finally fallen out. But Wayne had seen the scrap on his face. Let Eddie have the lie.

Eddie holds his guitar close, moving it into position and jogs out onto the stage, calling over his shoulder,

"Thanks dad!" It's said without thought or realization. And then he's out there. And the curtains open, and him and his friends do their thing. And Wayne's not into the hard metal like Eddie is. But he likes the music his boy makes. Because as loud and scary as it may be to some people, his boy puts his heart into it. Like he does with everything. Wayne could watch him play music with his friends all day.

They dont win. But they hadn't entered to win. They just wanted to play on stage. Wayne takes them all out for pizza after. A few of their parents come along. The smiles on all their faces as they eat and shout and laugh warms Wayne's heart. Eddie had found these boys, like rescuing strays. Wayne could never articulate how proud he was, not in words, or any other way. So he just rests his arm on the back Eddie's chair, squeezes his shoulder and smiles back when Eddie beams at him.

~°~

The third time it happens. Eddie's a junior. He comes home dripping blood from his face. He storms past Wayne and shuts himself in the bathroom. Wayne can hear him sobbing. Hears him cursing. But he waits.

Eddie finally comes out of the bathroom. Stops in the hall. His shoulders hung. They shake for a moment. And then stop. He turns, his face bruised, his eyes glassy, but there's something in them, under the sadness. Defiance. He takes a step toward Wayne. Takes a deep breathe, and sighs.

"I'm a fucking idiot." He says, shaking his head. Wayne smiles a little, shakes his head.

"Now I know that ain't true. You wanna tell me what happened?" He folds the newspaper on his lap, throws it on the coffee table. Eddie swallows, hard, stares at Wayne. And Wayne can see fear in his eyes again. It's been years since he looked at Wayne with fear in his eyes.

"Go on. Ya know I'm listenin." He folds his hands in his lap, never looks away from his nephew. And Eddie, he does the thing he's best at, he throws Wayne a fucking curve ball.

"I'm gay. And I kissed a boy. The wrong one. Turns out. He said he was the right one. He kissed me back. This was..." Eddie crosses his arms defensively, looking toward the ceiling, thinking,

"Three days ago? And today he punched me in the face when I said hi to him in the bathroom. And then his friend punched me because I apparently I attacked his friend? Which I didn't." Wayne watches his hands fist in his shirt as he speaks, his arms tightening around himself.

"He said he liked me. I- I don't know what happened." His arms fall, he looks defeated. His chest shakes as he tries not to cry. Wayne stands, too quickly, Eddie flinches back. Wayne opens his palms, holds them out to Eddie as he moves closer. Eddie's trembling by the time Wayne gets his arms around him. Eddie sobs against him, clutching at Wayne, his fingers almost painful. Wayne tries to sooth him, moves his hand over Eddie's back slowly.

"He said he liked me dad. Why did he do that?" Eddie cries into his shirt. Wayne grimaces, holds him tigher. Fights the urge to leave Eddie here and go find this boy. Make him feel the pain he's caused Eddie.

"I don't know son. But hey, look at me." He pulls back, Eddie looks at him, reluctantly.

"He's an asshole if he doesn't know how good he's got it with you. Yeah?" Wayne says, watches so many emotions fly across Eddie's face it almost makes him dizzy. He settles on confused, maybe a little wary.

"You- you're not mad? Y-you don't hate me?" His voice hitches, and Wayne immediately shakes his head.

"Nothin. And I mean nothin, you could ever do, would ever make me hate you. You hear me?" Wayne grabs his shoulders, gives him a little shake, for emphasis.

"Mhmm." Eddie hums.

"Hmm?" Wayne hums back.

"Yes sir." Eddie sniffles, wipes at his nose. The same way he'd done all those years ago when he'd woken Wayne.

"Good. Now listen, cuz I want you to hear me okay?"

Eddie nods.

"Ain't nothin wrong with likin what you like. You just gotta be careful. And safe. Because people round here. They are small minded. And vindictive. And they will hurt you. But hey," he moves his hands to Eddie's neck, bending a little to look him right in the eyes.

"I am so proud of you. And your mama woulda been proud too. Okay? You trust me?" He frowns, hoping he'd said everything right. Said everything the way his mother would have wanted. Eddie's crying again, but he's smiling. He nods again, enthusiastically, his hair shaking wildly.

"You know I love you?" Eddie snorts.

"Yeah. Love you too." And then he's in Wayne's arms again. And Wayne just sighs. It wasn't like he hadn't seen it. The way Eddie would look at boys. But he never said a word. Knew Eddie would tell him if, and when, he was ready. And today was that day. He hugged Eddie closer and then pulled away.

"Pizza?" Wayne asks, already reaching for the phone.

"Uugghh GOD yes!!" Eddie groans, wiping at his face as he falls on the coach, Wayne smiles into the phone until there's an answer on the other line.

~°~

The fourth time it happens it's because Wayne is telling Steve secrets. Secrets that eddie had sworn him to go to the grave with. And then he breaks out the fucking photo albums, like some fucking romantic comedy. Eddie had told him he was dating Harrington about a week ago. Wayne told him they were having a family dinner on Sunday, so he could, and wayne smiles at the memory, "officially meet his boe."

Eddie had groaned at the choice of words, but his cheeks were red and his eyes were shining with delight. Wayne didn't know exactly what happened, but he knew the Harrington boy had saved his son. And he knew that he was always leaving Eddie's room just as Wayne showed up to sit with him in the hospital.

He wasn't always alone, but he was always there. And then he'd... stayed. Eddie talked about him constantly. To say Wayne was shocked that Eddie had fallen in love with a Harrington, would be an understatement. But he'd seen them together a few times, lingering glances, soft smiles, and on one occasion the dorkiest bout of laughter Wayne had ever heard come from Eddie. They were so different, but they worked.

So wayne was showing him the few baby photos he had of Eddie. Sent in the mail from his sister before she passed. One of them, his favorite, was of a four year old Eddie, sitting naked in the middle of a creek, holding a box turtle on the top of his head, his hair a curly mop, the biggest smile on his face. Wayne could hear his sisters laugh every time he looked at the photo. And he cherished it, knowing it was probably one of very few genuinely happy moments Eddie and his mother had had.

He happily points the picture out to Steve, who coos and cackles over it. Eddie falls to the floor dramatically, his face shoved into the carpet.

"Oh my gooooooddddd daaad! Seriously?!?" His voice is muffled, but Wayne hears him, smiles when Steve looks between them, Steve smiles back.

"You were so cute Eds!" Steve says gleefully, then he turns to Eddie, nugdes his toe into Eddie's thigh.

"What happened?"

Wayne laughs then. A real laugh. He laughs over Eddie's undignified squawking.

"Hey! This was supposed to be a nice dinner and now I'm under attack! It's two against one, suddenly, how's that fair!?" He flops over on the floor, looking up at both of them, crossing his arms over his chest as they both laugh at him. He's putting up a good front but there's a smile sneaking its way onto his face, and then Steve snorts while he's laughing and Eddie loses it.

All of them laugh together until they're red in the face. Eddie ends up with his hand curled around Steve's calf, Steve leaning over, his hand on Eddie's shoulder. Everytime the laughter dies down Eddie snorts, mocking Steve, and it starts all over again. Wayne laughs and watches the two boys in his kitchen, laughing and laughing and feeling at home.

~°~

It happens off and on with time of course. But the most important time it happens, for Wayne anyway, is in the Byers backyard in October.

It's 1989. Halloween day. And their backyard is decked out to the nines. But it's not Halloween they're celebrating. It's a wedding.

An illegal one. But no one attending cares about that. Not here. Not with everyone smiling, and Jonathan taking pictures. And the banner Will had drawn for them hanging against the side of the house, full of music, and bats, and dragons, and magic, and Steve and Eddie.

El tosses flower petels as she walks down the makeshift aisle, tossing them playfully above her head, Steve is waiting in front of the crowd, looking nervous in his tux. His suit jacket is black, but the shirt underneath is a bright, warm, yellow. He watches El with a smile, laughing when she tosses flowers over his head, letting them fall around him. She kisses his cheek and takes her seat, wiggling in next to Will. He smiles at her and takes her hand, giving it a squeeze.

And then the music starts. Some Dio ballad Wayne had heard a thousand times. Steve and Eddie had clamed it as their own. Eddie walks next to him, his arm looped through Wayne's, he's wearing a deep red suit, it's almost blood red, his shirt underneath is black, and the pants are jeans, deep red jeans.

Joyce had pinned his hair up on his head, loose, stray strands falling out around his head. El had made him a flower crown out of dandelions, Eddie had been wearing it since she gave it to him this morning. The yellow matched Steve's shirt perfectly.

Wayne looks at him as they walk, his smile blinding at he sees Steve. He looks beautiful. So much like his mother. And so, so happy. Wayne rests his hand over Eddie's on his arm as they walk towards Steve. Wayne smiles when Steve gives Eddie a little wave, wiggling his fingers as they move closer. Eddie giggles, it's high pitched and a little manic, and so Eddie. Wayne and Eddie stop in front of Steve and Hopper asks,

"So, who's giving the lovely bride away today?" He's wearing a gaudy Hawaiian shirt, his hair all slicked back, everyone chuckles, but Eddie sobers fast, turns to look at Wayne.

"He is. My dad is." He smiles, big and bright, and a tear falls down his cheek. Wayne wipes it away with his knuckle, his face feeling flushed from all the attention suddenly on him.

"Guess that's me." He mumbles. Steve and Eddie laugh.

"Take good care of him son. I know you will." Wayne says to Steve. Steve is already nodding. His hands wobbling at his sides and Wayne knows he's trying not to reach out to Eddie. Eddie gives Wayne a quick hug, whispers a sweet,

"Thank you. For everything." In his ear, and then he's stepping up to stand in front of steve.

There's tears. And laughter. Especially when Eddie pulls out a piece of paper and says,

"Let's see what Will came up with shall we?"

But the vows are his. Wayne knows. They're full of Eddie, his words, and his mind, his soul, and his heart. That big heart that Wayne fell in love with so damn fast.

The first time he'd watched little 6 year old Eddie pick up a bug that had gotten into the trailer and carry it outside, all the while telling the thing that it was gonna be okay, that he wouldn't hurt it. Wayne loved him so much.

But he also knew, the only other person who loved Eddie even close to how much he did, was, by some odd fucking miracle, Steve Harrington. And that's why, when Steve came asking for permission. Wayne immediately said yes. And when Steve mentioned picking out the perfect ring, needing it to be right for Eddie. Wayne had opened a box he hadn't opened in years, and he'd given Steve an old ring of Eddie's mother's.

He had planned on giving it to Eddie when he wanted to ask someone. But this was better. This was perfect. Steve had cried, and thanked him. And he'd asked Eddie to marry him three days later.

They were sitting on the roof of the trailer. Eddie was telling him stories about the stars. Steve had slipped the ring on his finger and given him a look. The watery smile Eddie gave him, along with the nodding, gave Steve his answer. He'd pulled Eddie into a kiss and that had been that.

Eddie had given him a ring a month later. A golden band, simple, with golden leaves etched into it. And on the inside.  The words "my salvation" in black. Steve had cried. It was perfect. He'd saved Eddie. In so many ways. The most important one, obviously being... literally. But there were other times too. Recovery was hard. But Steve was strong. Strong for both of them.

So Wayne watches Max carry the rings down the aisle to them on a small black pillow, watches Hopper marry them. Watches them cry, and laugh, and dance. Watches Eddie dance with Max until they're both laughing too hard to stand up straight any longer. Watches Steve and Robin dance until they're crying into each other shoulders, Eddie and Nancy dancing near by, ready to jump in if they're needed.

He watches Eddie and the family he'd found. The family that loved him. The family he'd dragged Wayne into, weather he liked it or not. And for the most part. He liked it.

He watched his son dance with his husband, and smiled to himself, his attention only moving on when Ms. Henderson sits next him at the table, her hand landing on his arm, friendly and warm.

"You did a great job with him Wayne. He's such a good boy." Her eyes are a little teary as she watches Dustin and Eddie jump around and headbang to some metal song that's come on.

"Thank you ma'am." Wayne nods, his cheeks flushing. He reaches into his pocket, hands her a hanky for her tears.

"Oh! Thank you." Wayne's not sure if he's imagining it, but she looks flushed as well.

"I don't know of you remember me or not. But we had-"

"English. Fifth period. Mrs. Fitzgerald. I remember." Wayne says immediately. His eyes widening at himself, he clears his throat and looks away when she laughs.

She's about to say something when she hears Dustin yell for her. And then she's gone, being pulled onto the dance floor by her son. Wayne sighs, watches her dance until he notices movements in his peripherals. He turns a bit, sees Steve and Eddie, their arms wrapped around each other, looking at him.

Both of them nodding toward Mrs. Henderson and making faces, Eddie tries to break away to get to Wayne but Steve holds him back with a laugh as Wayne hold his hands up. He rolls his eyes at them when they nod toward her again, grumpy little faces telling him if he doesn't do it, they will.

He takes a deep breathe, puts his hands on his knees, and pushes himself out of his seat. He takes a step onto the dance floor, towards Dustin and his mother, and his next adventure.

[racingline3]

Early Mornigs ~ Lewis Hamilton

♡ Lewis Hamilton x Reader (!Russell Sister)

Description: Early mornings at the Paddock become a lot more interesting

~fluff & a bit of angst ~

Weekend mornings were your new favourite time of the week.

It had happened by complete accident.

You had been extra early one Friday morning to the Paddock and made a beeline for the Mercedes catering truck to find it wasn’t completely set up. There was one table and chairs set up and someone was sitting there already.

But it wasn’t just anyone. It was Lewis Hamilton.

Being George’s older sister, you had met the man before, when George had first signed his contract, at a Mercedes Friends and Family event. You saw him around the garage but you were always hiding away in George’s side, keeping out of everyone’s way.

You had never spoken to him alone. But you did need somewhere to sit until everything else set up. You were far too aware that he was a multiple time world champion and practical living legend but you reminded yourself he was still a human being too.

“Hi…eh, Lewis?” You ask, “Would you mind if I take a seat?” You nod to the chair on the other side of the large table, while juggling your coffee mug, bag and laptop.

He looks up from his phone and recognition dawns on his face, he says your name like you chat everyday, “George’s sister right?”

You think that it must speak volumes about his character to bother remembering the names of peripheral family of your teammate at this kind of elite level. “Of course, take a seat.”

“Thanks so much. I didn’t mean to get here so early.” You apologize.

“No worries.” He waves away your apology. “It’s nice to be here before the craziness descends.” He smiles softly.

“Oh God, am I interrupting your pre race ritual? Pretend I’m not here.” You rush out, opening your laptop to put a barrier between the two of you.

“No, not at all. I just like to get my coffee before the mayhem. I’m not a morning person by nature so I like to have some time before jumping into the day’s meetings.”

You shut your laptop down with a click, “Oh that’s good, because it is far too early for me to start work.” You grin and crip your mug with both hands.

“You work this early?” He asks, his head tipping to the side slightly, giving you his full attention.

It was complicated to say the least, “Eh…I mean…not…”

“Some things are too difficult to talk about this early in the morning.” He says leaning across to you ever so slightly.

“Yeah.” You admit with a sigh.

“Wait, I thought you didn’t like Formula 1?” You look at him in disbelief as he remembers something you mentioned when you had been chatting to him and Toto when George was signing his contract. “It’s pretty unusual for everyone in the family not to be consumed by it all.” His smile is smaller, as if he’s self-conscious of remembering something so specific about you.

You lean over and fake whisper, “I probably wouldn’t watch motor sports if George wasn’t involved.”

He places a hand over his heart. “That’s cold.”

“It’s just cars driving in circles.” You quip, using the description that always drove George mad with indignation.

But Lewis just throws his head back with a laugh. “You’re not wrong.”

“So you’re a good sister to come here and put up with all this then?” He asks as he idly traces a finger around the rim of his mug and you have the sudden ache for him to softly trace his finger like that against your collarbone.

“I love George. We all helped him make his dream come through, and now he’s helping me.” You say and Lewis doesn’t push when you don’t give anymore information.

“It’s nice when the first thing someone talks to me about isn’t my racing strategy, my thoughts on FIA regulations and the rest of it.” He admits.

“Oh damn, I was actually going to ask you about a race in 2015 when…” You say but laugh instead, “I can’t even come up with an example.” You shrug.

It was then you got hit by the effect of Lewis’ full smile, one that lit up his eyes and made your heart beat that little bit faster.

*****************

You spent all Friday evening overthinking it all. If you turned up to Paddock early again on Saturday and Lewis was there, would he think you were being a stalker?

You ignored the tiny voice that mentioned that if he wasn’t there, that you’d be disappointed.

So you turned up, the same time as the previous day and to your utter relief Lewis smiled when he saw you and pointed to the chair opposite him.

“Fancy seeing you here.” He grins.

“I swear I’m not stalking you.” The words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop. The familiar grip of anxiety clasped around your throat.

“I’m going to have to call off the restraining order now.” He says with a straight face and you panic for a split second before his mouth twitches into a grin, “I’m just joking, I never thought you were. You know people usually follow me around to see the trophies and hear the on-track stories, I kind of think that would send you running.”

“Straight to a plane and back to England.” You confirm when your shoulders relax at his jovial mood.

He laughs again and you’re worried that the sound is becoming more addictive than your morning caffeine hit.

"I hate driving." You admit and he looks at you like you're a puzzle he wants to solve, "that's why I'm here so early. I avoid all the traffic and there's plenty of room for me to try and park without anyone looking at how many tries it takes me." You blush, wondering why his presence made you feel comfortable enough to say things you'd never tell anyone else.

Perhaps it's because it's just the two of you.

Perhaps it's the early morning.

Or perhaps that's just the effect that Lewis has on you.

He nods as he digests your words, "So you do what you're scared of despite the fear, that’s pretty brave you know. I'm here because once people know I'm awake my life is full of noise, full of schedules and training and sometimes I need a break, without offending anyone."

"So you can be Lewis and not Lewis Hamilton?" You ask.

"Yeah exactly." He says, his eyes might as well have been looking right into your very soul.

It was probably for the best that his phone started ringing. "Toto." He says as he glances at the screen.

"Time to go be Lewis Hamilton." You say softly.

"I'll see you tomorrow? " He asks as he stands up before answering his phone.

"See you then."

It had been that simple.

You and Lewis and met you every morning of a Grand Prix for months.

You had told him about the burnout you had at your corporate job and how George had come to your rescue and wanted you to travel with him for a year, seeing as you had taken extra part-time jobs for years to help fund his karting career.

About how your dream was to be a published writer and so while everyone timed laps, you were timing story pace. How you were very happy to let George take the limelight and had your pen name chosen.

He told you how claustrophobic life could be like for him. How he missed his family and normal life sometimes. How he felt such pressure on his shoulders. How hungry he was for another world championship.

The two of you, being each others’ rock for a while every time the storms of the Grand Prix hit. It felt like a special little bubble.

Until it burst.

**********************

You have a skip in your step as you enter the catering area, you had come up with the resolution of a plot twist that had been annoying you and can’t wait to tell Lewis about it.

But Lewis isn't at his, your, usual table.

You stop before telling yourself he must be running late and get your coffee.

And wait.

You even send him a text to see if he's okay. You had long since swapped numbers, you delighted when your little bubble extended to everyday life as you sent him driving memes and he sent you pictures of Roscoe.

You know he had had a bad qualifying but that had never stopped him turning up before. He doesn't even read the message and you sit there until your coffee turns cold.

It was only worse later on in the day when your heart was practically flooded with ice when Lewis walked right past you in the Paddock, ignoring when you said hi and disappearing into the crowd.

He knew you hid from the media, wearing a peak cap at all times and never speaking to many people at a Grand Prix so as not to draw attention to yourself. So the mere act of saying hello to him was a big deal.

And now you were left standing in the middle of the chaos watching as Lewis Hamilton walked away and you wondered where the hell your Lewis had gone.

You had kept your meetups as a sweet secret just for the two of you. Now you wished you had yelled it from the rooftops just so that someone else knew about it and so you know it wasn't all a dream.

The next time you got close to him was when he was going for the drivers parade and you called to him.

He reached up and put his sunglasses down over his eyes and walked by you like you were just another person of the omnipresent crowd around him.

You go straight to George. He looks up from some stats he's looking over and frowns when he sees your face. "What's wrong?" Your little brother knows you well.

"Nothing. It's just…has Lewis been acting differently with you today?"

He seems to ponder it, "No but…"

"But what Georgie?"

"Is there something going on between you and Lewis?"

"What?"

"I just heard some rumors. You were seen together and you know how the gossip rumor works, you’re practically married by now." He shrugs.

"There's nothing happening. I just thought we were friends." You admit. "He's been off with me today."

"I'm sure it's not on purpose, Lewis is a good guy." He huffs then and crosses his arms, "But if something happens I'm going to have to have a talk with him."

You roll your eyes with a laugh, "You don't have to protect me Georgie."

Someone called George from inside the garage and your talk was cut short. You could do nothing but go along with the flow as the race set up and the lights went out.You felt a headache coming on. It just worsened as you watched the race, trying to pretend to be normal.

Trying to pretend that Lewis hadn't hurt you. Trying to pretend that you hadn't given Lewis your heart over the past few months and he may as well have driven his car over it.

*******************

As the race trundled on, you wondered when exactly you had fallen in love with Lewis. The realisation hit you as hard as a car hitting the wall on a street circuit.

You had fallen in love with his smile, his way of thinking, his values, his terrible dad jokes, his very soul.

He had once told you that you were brave. So you mustered all you could, shoved your anxiety back down your throat and stalked across the garage post race like a woman on a mission.

You didn't care who saw you. You didn't care if everyone posted it on every social media platform.

You followed Lewis into his trailer, jumping up the step and stopping the door closing behind him.

He looks at you as you close the door behind you, sweat stuck to his skin and his breath still slightly laboured from the race.

"What is going on?" You ask, trying to get his attention as he looks out the window of his trailer before shutting the blinds. "What are you doing?" You ask, completely bewildered.

It was like all your nightmares coming true.

Was he ashamed to be seen with you?

"What are you doing here?" He asks, his voice hard.

"What is going on Lewis? I thought we were friends." You fire back as gruffly.

His eyes soften, "Of course we are."

"Then what the hell is happening?"

"What's happening is that people have found out we hang out."

"So you don't want anyone to know that you know me?" Your stomach churned at the thought of being some dirty secret for him.

"No I don't." He says, then his armor falls away, "Because then you would be sucked into my media storm and you don't deserve that. It's better if we keep a distance."

"You didn't want to tell me any of this?" You wonder aloud.

"Because people change when they have a chance at fame."

"And you thought that of me?" You hated that your voice broke over his lack of trust in you.

"No. Not for a second. But you don't want this. You hate fame. You want a quiet life and I can't give you that." His voice was strained. "So it's...."

"Better to keep our distance, apparently?" You tossed his words back to him.

He nods, "Because it hit me, if I spend much more time with you, I won't ever want to let you go, and you won't want to stay amidst the chaos."

He stole the air right out of your lungs.

"I like you. I’ve started to look forward more to seeing you than the races at weekends." He says, "And I don't want to keep hold of you if you don’t any of this, so I'm letting you go before this gets...,"

"Lewis." You say, your voice practically strangled by emotion. "I'm not going anywhere."

The air became heavy, your heart started racing as if it had been given a jump by DRS.

"I didn't mean to hurt you. I figured you're better off without me and the crazy rumours." He says.

You don't know where you find the courage to take a step towards him. "What if they're not rumors anymore?"

He gently encircles one of your wrists with his hand, ghosting his thumb over your pulse point.

“You’re right. I don’t like the limelight, I’m shy and quiet and I don’t care about Formula 1 further than you and George love it. I don’t care about any of it, Lewis. I don't want you for your fame. I care about you. I want you."

He lifts your hand so it's placed on his shoulder, you dig you fingers into his race suit immediately as if you plan to hold onto him for dear life.

“I thought it would hurt you more, all of this.” He admits. “And I never want to hurt you.”

“Then don’t push me away.” You tell him, “I know my own mind and I want to be here.”

He does exactly as you ask as he moves an arm around your waist and takes the final step towards you. He leans down, his mouth ghosting over yours, giving you another chance to back out, to run a mile.

So you lean in the rest of the way.

The world rearranges itself so there’s nothing but Lewis, how he tastes, how he feels, as he pulls you fully against him.

If this is the exhilaration of driving a Formula 1 car, you really can’t blame Lewis for loving it so much.

It was Toto Wolff of all people who barged in and interrupted the best damn kiss of your life. You pulled away but Lewis kept his hand on your back.

“Ah.” He says in usual straight talking manner. “This is why you’re so happy at our morning meetings lately.”

[ageofstarkey]

soft glow ✰ m. riddle

summary: sleepy mornings with matthéo

pairing: bf!matthéo x reader

warnings: slightly suggestive at the end, but nothing really other than that!! just tooth rotting fluff n théo who’s soft for u and no one else!! :’))

note: hi!! i’m not sure how i feel about this one but i still think it’s a lil tiny bit cute so i’m posting!! feel free to send in requests!!

masterlist

comments & reblogs are so appreciated! <3

✰ ✰ ✰

when you wake up, matthéo’s bedroom is warm with the soft glow of morning. golden rays of sunlight peek stubbornly through his drapes, and soft white noise filters steadily in through the window.

as you slowly come to, you begin to register the familiar sensation of matthéo’s touch. his calloused fingers glide almost curiously across your face; carefully tracing each curve and dip, as if to memorize your every detail.

with a soft hum, you finally blink open your eyes - squinting into the sunlight. you roll towards matthéo with a yawn, offering him a sleepy smile. “hi”

matthéo grins, smoothing a mess of tangled hair away from your face. “hi, darling.” his voice is raspy and painfully fond - and your heart aches pleasantly behind your ribcage. his hand slides casually to the back of your neck, and you quietly hope that your cheeks aren’t as red as they feel. “how’d you sleep?”

“me? oh - i slept terribly” you’re aiming for deadpan in a desperate attempt to play it cool, but you wear a giddy little grin that almost certainly gives you away. “worst sleep of my life.”

“oh yeah?”

you nod with all the conviction you can muster - which admittedly isn’t much. “mhmm” with a little stretch, you’re leaning upwards to kiss his cheek. “you snore louder than my granddad.”

matthéo scoffs in mock offence, fingers poking teasingly at your side. “‘s that so?”

you nod once more, trying desperately to stifle a giggle. matthéo’s teasing is relentless, and you squirm clumsily away from his prodding fingers. in the end - it doesn’t take long for you to give in. “okay! okay - fine!” you laugh breathlessly. “you don’t snore and i had the best sleep of my life. is that what you wanted to hear?”

“yes actually. because you on the other hand - you do snore and it’s really quite loud - sort of like-”

“matthéo!” he’s being mean on purpose and you pretend to hate it. “i do not snore!”

“okay but how do you know you don’t snore, hm? i mean - if you’re asleep when it happens…” he tugs you towards his bare chest, one arm wrapped firmly around your back. “you wouldn’t really know, would you?” he punctuates his words with a soft kiss to your forehead, and you all but melt into his gentle embrace.

“i hate you.” with your face smushed against matthéo’s chest, your words come out awkward and muffled. “like - i really, really can’t stand you sometimes.”

he tugs you impossibly closer with a pleased laugh. “don’t lie, sweetheart”

“i’m not lying!”

he tilts your head upwards before slowly kissing your lips. you feel warm all over, and you chase him with a quiet whine when he pulls away. “if you really hate me, why were you screaming m-”

“you’re so awful!”

[fkinavocado]

Warnings: 18+, smut, subrry, unprotected sex, friends to lovers

Word count: 7.5k

Pretty like yours

Your eyes were glued to those slutty yellow shorts. You just couldn’t force them to look away. Trusting that your sunglasses would conceal your ogling, you were facing the shoreline- thankfully women had good peripheral vision so you could get away with it. 

But damn, was he hot. Hotter than the scorching sun, setting you afire more than the offending rays. You’d taken a time out from their volleyball game to go reapply sunscreen, but you weren’t sure you even wanted to go back. You had a much better view from where you were sat on the beach lounger. You couldn’t really focus on eyefucking him while you were playing, well, not without making a fool of yourself. And you couldn’t have that.

Not now that Harry was finally single.

God, you’d waited ages for him to finally be back on the market. You’d had the fattest crush on him ever since you met, ever since this whole group of friends from uni had formed, and it’d been absolute torture spending so much time with him knowing you couldn’t put the moves on him.

Not that morals had gotten in your way, no. You would’ve gladly set caution to the wind for Harry, but you just knew you wouldn’t have stood a chance. He’d been a lovesick puppy, to the point where it was actually quite sickening; to the point where your friends had to ask him not to bring his girlfriend along anymore when you all went out together because they were just too sickeningly in love. (You may or may not have been one of said friends). His ex wasn’t part of the group, not attending your university, and so was considered an “outsider”, and none of you ever brought your partners along when you all hung out, so Harry had only ever brought her to parties from then on. Parties you tended to avoid, as you weren’t exactly a huge fan out seeing them make out and get all handsy with each other, more so than they already were, especially a few drinks in.

You took a sip of water that was beginning to get way too warm and then got back to ogling him, planning your attack. You couldn’t help but smile at how he kept trying to move his hair out of his face, the breeze making it difficult for him to actually focus on the game. He’d let it grow out and now it was shoulder length. It made him unbearably hotter (which you wouldn’t have thought possible).

You were snapped out your reverie when you saw Harry wave at you, a smile on his face. You were momentarily taken aback to see him smile, he’d been sulking for the majority of the weekend trip to the beach, so initially you didn’t even realise he was waving at you.

But when he walked away from the group and started heading towards the beach loungers you knew you’d been caught staring. You’d seemingly forgotten to pretend you weren’t looking in that direction after having had some water.

Well, since you’d been caught you didn’t bother looking away as he walked over. At least he couldn’t see the way your eyes scanned him head to toe ever so slowly behind your glasses, taking in every bit of that tan skin, well defined muscles, tattoos on full display, and those offending itty bitty yellow shorts that did nothing to conceal the bulge he was sporting.

He sat down on the chaise next to yours and grabbed the water bottle, grimacing after taking a large gulp. “This is boiling at this point… Hey, you never got back; kinda hard to play a fair game with uneven team players.”

“Eh, wasn’t really feeling it.”

“Did you need help?”

“Hm?”

He looked down your body and you tried not to dwell on how his eyes seemed to have lingered for a tad longer on your boobs before travelling back up to meet your eyes “You said you’d take a time out to apply sunscreen; did you?”

Even you had forgotten you’d used that as an excuse to extricate yourself from the game. “Oh. Hadn’t gotten to it yet, was just… you know, catching my breath for a moment.”

“For a moment.” He flashed his dimpled smile at you, and you forced yourself not to furrow your brows. Was he onto you, had you really been that obvious?

Before you could clear the air, he reached for the bags and fished out the SPF. “Scoot forward, I’ll do your back.”

You did as instructed and felt Harry sit behind you, his thick, muscly thighs on either side of yours with how close behind he was sitting, and then felt him gently sweep your hair over your shoulders and to the front. “The waves look really good on you.”

You were glad he couldn’t see you blushing. It’s not that Harry hadn’t complimented you before, he was very considerate and nice overall- with all of your friends. But you couldn’t help but hope that maybe now that he was single he might start to see you in a different light.

“Thanks. It’s from how I kept it in braids.”

You felt him smooth his big palms over your back after you’d heard him massage the lotion in between them for a while to ensure it wouldn’t be too cold, although you’d have probably welcomed the sensation with how hot it was.

“It’s almost as curly as mine now.”

You tried your best not to make any embarrassing noises with how good it felt to have him massage the lotion into your skin. He moved his hands slowly but deliberately, working the SPF into your skin. It felt heavenly.

“Well, not quite,” you smiled. “Yours grew out so much, H. I was actually admiring it when you walked back here, it really suits you. Though it seemed to be a pain playing volleyball, you should tie it up to keep it out of your face now that it’s long enough.”

“Thanks…” you could hear the coy smile in his voice. You couldn’t understand how this man could grow shy when this whole beach had been eyefucking him since you’d gotten there, and the others hadn’t been nearly as stealthy about it as you’d been.

“Want me to braid it for you?”

Harry’s hands stilled on either side of your waist, squeezing the plush skin there. “Oh? Do you think it’s long enough…?”

You turned to look at him over your shoulder, pretending to assess the length, but really, you just lingered on his lips the most. He was so close. And his lips were so kissable. They had this really pretty, dusty rose hue to them, something men shouldn’t be endowed with to begin with. You had to layer on a number of lip products to get yours to look this good. 

“Yeah. Hop on the sand in front of the chaise and I’ll do it right now if you want.”

You watched those perfect lips stretch into a beautiful smile, his dimples making an appearance as well and stealing your attention for a bit. “Yeah? Ok!” He stood up and did as instructed sitting between your legs now, as you scooted even closer to the edge of the seat. “Wait, don’t forget to put on lotion first.”

“No, I’ll just get my hands all oily, I don’t wanna mess up your hair. I’ll do it after.”

“I’ve never had it braided before.” You could hear the enthusiasm in his voice. “Think it’ll look pretty like yours?”

You bit back your smile, trying to focus on the task at hand. You ran your fingers through his curls first, trying your very best to detangle the hair without pulling at the strands at all. His hair was very soft to the touch, even with how much you’d all been swimming since you’d gotten there. “Prettier. Your hair’s so soft. What’s your secret, hm? Mine is already so stiff with all the salty seawater, but I guess it helped with the waves since I let it dry braided, so I can’t complain.”

Harry didn’t reply. His head was hung back as he rested against the edge of the chaise, and he even let out a breathy moan when you used your nails a bit to separate the strands one from another. “Oh, you like this, don’t you?” you teased.

“I might need you to do this everyday, feels amazin’.”

You softly chuckled and began braiding, making sure to keep his hair taught, pulling on it a bit to get the desired effect, but Harry seemed to really enjoy it. His mouth fell agape and his eyes were closed and you took your sweet time with each braid, savouring the experience as much as he was.

“You deserve it, H… You know, I’m glad you came along this weekend, was afraid you’d skip again. We missed you.”

He fluttered his eyes open at that, and ran his hands up and down his thighs absentmindedly, his knees bent to his chest. Those meaty thighs had made a guest appearance in your dreams more than once, and you eyed his tiger tattoo smiling to yourself remembering one of your more recent fantasies about it. You willed your mind out of the gutter, though.

“You know you can talk about it, if you want, right? I’m here.” You spoke softly, coaxing him to open up to you. Not only to get closer to him, but you were genuinely worried for him. The others loved to tease him about it, but you could tell he was frustrated with how he probably couldn’t confide in any of them, lest he be teased even more for it.

He nodded, careful not to move his head too much and accidentally ruin your handiwork. 

“I can tell you’re heartbroken. Just… want you to be happy.” You finished braiding, tying his hair using the same elastics you’d taken out of your own hair, and leaned forward to kiss his cheek, then circled your arms around his shoulders, hugging him from behind.

He reached to grab one of your hands in his and squeezed it as he leaned his temple against yours. “I’ll be alright… eventually. Right?”

His voice was so small and dejected that it made your own heart break a little. He was hurting more than he was letting on. You knew he’d been with his ex for almost 2 years, and although you hadn’t had such a long relationship yourself, you knew it couldn’t have been easy. You’d also never been in love, so you couldn’t even imagine what he was going through. You didn’t know why they’d broken up, but you had a feeling his ex had been the one to break his heart, not the other way around.

“Of course, H. You’ll be fine. I promise. Don’t you trust me?” You mumbled against his ear reassuringly.

“I do.”

“It’s ok to be sad. But you’ll soon be happy again, happier even. Because you don’t need someone who doesn’t appreciate you, yeah? You’re such a great guy, and anyone who doesn’t see that doesn’t deserve you. I promise you’ll find someone who’ll make you forget about her altogether.”

Harry sighed heavily. You weren't even sure he’d listened to any of what you’d told him. He interlocked your fingers and brought your conjoined hands lower, pressing them to his chest, against his heart. “Think it’s ever gonna beat right again?”

You chuckled at how corny he was “Yes, you big ol’ softie, you. Someone will take all the broken pieces and carefully glue them right back together and it’ll be as good as new in no time. Better even, like kintsugi.” He turned his head to look at you confusedly and you explained, “you know, the japanese art of glueing back broken objects with gold.”

You pulled back, grabbed the lotion and stood up. Squirted some into your palms and started massaging it all over your torso. Harry looked up at you and shielded his eyes, and you moved one of your feet between his legs so you’d block the sun from getting into his eyes. “Wanna go for a swim, now that you’re all fit to brave the waves with your new braids?”

Harry smoothed his palm gently over his hair, feeling for the braids, almost as though he’d forgotten all about them. He watched you intently as you rubbed the lotion into your skin, bent at the waist to reach your thighs and now your calves, and when you stood back upright you could’ve sworn his eyes had been glued to your cleavage. Which, in all fairness, you’d hung your tits right in his face- you’d have found it weird if he hadn’t. Heartbroken or not, he was still a man. And you looked good in that bikini, if you did say so yourself.

And he looked good with his hair braided like that, too. There was just something about Harry that made him look hot no matter what, he didn’t even have to look too manly. In fact, that was one of the things you’d always loved about him. He wasn’t afraid to show off his feminine side. He was a pretty boy as much as he was a handsome man. He just knew how to flaunt both sides in equal measure and that made him all that more attractive in your eyes.

You were once more snapped out of your train of thought when you felt his nimble fingers on your ankle, he was touching your ankle bracelet, fidgeting its trinkets. He then wrapped his hand around the ankle and slowly looked back up at you. “No, you go. I’ll head back to the hotel for a bit.”

He then removed his hand and you took a step back to allow him to stand, now towering over you and you wondered whether you’d pushed it a bit too far. He looked… slightly annoyed, and visibly saddened. That frown line erased all his sweet, feminine features and you wished you could just smooth it out, running your fingers over it and caressing all over his face, much like you did with his hair. You almost did so, when he took a step back and then turned towards the hotel that was right across the private beach, a small walk away. 

You let out a breathy sigh. You’d probably been a bit too nosey, he was likely not ready to hear all that yet. He’d just broken up with his ex, and he was allowed to feel sorry for himself and still miss her. 

You got into the water knee-deep, contemplating all this, when you realized you’d used your hairties on Harry, and you really didn’t feel like getting your hair all wet again. Not now that, without the braids, it’d just dry down all wonky and you wanted to keep the waves. Especially with how Harry had complimented you.

With a huff, you walked back to shore and everyone was back at your spot, drinking water and making plans for early dinner. They were contemplating going to a spot by the pier so they wouldn’t have to bother getting dressed, but you opted out. The way Harry had left all dejected didn’t sit right with you, and you feared you’d crossed a line and upset him with what you’d said. You wanted to go make sure he was ok.

“You guys go along, not feeling very hungry. Catch you later.”

“Where’s Harry?”

“I texted him and he didn’t get back to me. Y/N, mind dropping by our room and see if he wants to grab dinner with us? He’ll be even grumpier if he finds out he missed out ‘cause he’s been too busy sulking over Marrisa.”

Sarah elbowed Mitch, “Hey. Come on guys, quit teasing him. He’s clearly very upset over this, and this trip was supposed to help him take his mind off things. Your constant nagging is just making matters worse.”

Mitch rolled his eyes, “It’s been over a month, how long is he gonna moan about it? So what, she cheated on him- life goes on! He needs to get out there and have some fun and put this all behind him.”

Sarah narrowed her eyes at him, and you knew Mitch was in for it. They thought they were being sneaky, but everyone knew they were getting cosy with each other as of late. It was still early days, you could tell, but Mitch might have just dug his grave with this one.

“Yeah, I’ll drop by your room and ask him, he’s probably napping though so I won’t wake him up if that’s the case.”

“I mean… if he’s grumpy we didn’t wake him up for dinner, it’s on you.”

“No pressure,” you gulped audibly for dramatic effect and began walking back to the hotel. You really hoped he wasn’t, in fact, napping, and not just for everyone’s sake. You wanted to clear the air a bit and apologise if you’d struck a chord earlier. 

You were just about to knock when you heard something on the other side of his hotel room. You decided to stick your ear against the door and make sure you weren’t hearing things before actually knocking, and there it was again, only this time, louder. Clearer.

Was he unwell? 

Maybe it was sun poisoning. You felt bad to just walk away without offering to help. So you decided to knock on the door softly. “Harry?”

After a long pause that had you convinced he hadn’t heard you and ready to knock again, you heard him. “...Yes?”

“Are you alright in there?… Can I help? Do you need anything?”

Silence. 

You were starting to grow worried, why wasn’t he answering right away if he could hear you?

“I… I think I do, yeah.”

“What is it? Tell me. You’re worrying me.”

You heard him fumble around a bit and could tell he was getting up from bed and finally, finally, he opened the door the tiniest bit, his body behind it. He looked flushed and a bit sweaty. 

When he wouldn’t speak, his eyes downcast, you reached out to touch his forehead. “You’re warm, what’s the matter? Is it sun poisoning? Or were you having a bad dream? It sounded like you were in pain. Came to check if you wanted to join the guys for dinner.”

“They’re out at dinner?”

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t wanna go?”

You huffed at his avoidency. “Well can I come in, or are we gonna keep talking in the doorway? Wanted to talk to you, anyway.”

He cleared his throat and stepped back, making room for you to step inside and closed the door behind you, locking it. You raised an eyebrow at the sound, turned around and noticed he was holding the bedsheet tightly around his waist.

“What did you wanna talk about?”

“Yeah, uhm… Earlier, I got the vibe that I might have upset you… with what I said, about Marissa. I know it’s shitty to hear bad stuff about your ex soon after the break-up, like, it never really sits right even if it’s true and even if the person meant well saying those things, to help you move on… I know it’s not how it works. But I was just trying to make you feel better.”

Harry exhaled audibly through his nose, leaning against the doorframe. “I know you meant well. And it was true. I know you’re right, everyone’s right…”

“The guys are being jerks, teasing you like that. But they do mean well…”

"Yeah…” he cleared his throat after a beat, glancing at you from under his thick lashes, a smile playing on his lips. “You were trying to make me feel better?”

You gave him a small smile back “Of course.”

“You offered to help earlier.”

You furrowed your brows, looking around for something amiss. He seemed fine. You’d forgotten all about those noises from earlier. When you looked back at him readying yourself to ask him what was wrong again, he bit his lower lip and pulled the bedsheet off himself.

“Oh… my God.” You covered your mouth in disbelief, your eyes glued to his glorious cock, all hard and heavy. You watched as it twitched at your reaction and you couldn’t stifle a moan at the sight.

Harry’s lips curled up in a smug smile, he was happy with your reaction, if a bit shy. You could tell he was struggling to silence the thoughts that were no doubt running through his mind. He was recently broken up and most probably still in love with his ex. But clearly, he wanted to do something about that. And he wanted your help with it.

“Are you… are you sure?” you decided to risk it and ask, the last thing you wanted was for him to regret this and avoid you as a result.

“Do I look unsure?”

“I mean… depends where I’m looking. Your eyes tell a different story…” you walked closer to him and made sure to keep eye contact, as much as you wanted to keep staring at his naked body. You wanted to feel him out and also show him you were being mindful of his emotions.

His gaze darkened a bit, staring at your lips. “Came back here to feel sorry for myself, but I couldn’t stop picturing you from earlier… in this skimpy little bikini.” His eyes raked down your body, using the opportunity to get a good eyeful of you upclose. “I was imagining you’d followed me back here. Got a semi at the beach with how you ran your fingers through my hair, loved it when you pulled at the strands a bit… was imagining you doing it on purpose, to tease me. I know you…” he lowered his eyes again, a shy smile on his lips “I know you are a bit more dominant... you’ve mentioned it a few times. I’ve always been curious about that, never had anyone boss me around in bed. I’ve wondered what it’d be like, and it always gets me so hard…”

“...Always?” All of this was a shock to you, but here he was implying he’d fantasised about you before.

“I sometimes used to catch myself fantasising about you… and I willed those thoughts away.” You watched as he grabbed himself, stroking lazily, shuddering at the contact. “But now that I don’t have to anymore… it’s you, everytime I touch myself.”

You were stunned. And also, you couldn’t get your eyes off of how he was stroking his cock. Had he been doing this ever since he’d gotten to the hotel room? “You’ve, uhm… you’ve been back here a while.”

“Yeah. It’s getting painful. But I love edging myself,” he shrugged and lowered his gaze. He was just unbearably hot when he acted all shy like that. And you knew it wasn’t just an act, he really was like that, he’d always been like that. Both cocky and shy in equal measures, much like his feminine side. It was a heady mix. “Although, I’m pretty sure I’d love being edged more,” he added, his voice small.

“You really were thinking about me?” you whispered, getting even closer, close enough that your noses were almost touching.

He nodded, causing the tips of your noses to touch just like you’d foreseen. “Is that so wrong? So… soon? And even before… I didn’t mean to. I tried not to. I always told myself I was just curious about being with someone more dominant. But it’s not just that. It’s you.”

Damn. 

Feeling like that was more than enough confirmation that this wasn’t just a hasty, heat of the moment thing that he’d regret later on, you bridged the small distance and moulded your lips to his. 

And with how shy he tended to get, you expected him to be hesitant and tentative but Harry grabbed you by the hips and pressed you flush against his naked frame, making sure you felt exactly how hard he was against your belly. You couldn’t even really focus on that, not when his tongue was licking gently at your lower lip, begging for entry, which you welcomed with enthusiasm. He was such a naturally good kisser, none of it felt mechanic in the least, he wasn’t trying to impress, wasn’t trying to keep it nice and contained, he was giving it his all without being overwhelming. Sloppy, but still intense. You felt dizzy already.

It was such an overload of feelings. The smell of him so upclose- he’d been running around the beach in the sun and his natural scent mixed with saltwater from the swimming was making you dizzy; the way you could feel his breathing fan your cheeks; feeling him solid and real underneath your palms as you steadied yourself, snaking your arms around his neck- it was all making you feral. You’d imagined this so many times but this was so much better than you’d ever allowed yourself to fantasise.

You pulled back a bit, making a mental note of doing this right, making it good for him. You wanted to show him how good you could be for him, wanted to get him hooked on you now that he’d gotten a taste. You didn’t know whether this would just be a one time thing, or if it’d turn into something casual, a friends with benefits type of situation perhaps, or maybe even more than that. You didn’t want to dwell on it yet. You were perfectly fine with any of the options, in truth. It was Harry, not a random bloke, and as open minded as you were, still, you weren’t the kind to just sleep around. You knew that, with him, it’d never feel cheap or meaningless. 

“Tell me what you need, Harry. Wanna hear you say it.”

And there it was, his shyness was overcoming him again, and you didn’t allow him to look away, not when you reached out and grabbed his cock from in between you, stroking it gently, mindful of tugging too hard on his soft yet dry shaft.

His mouth fell agape and his eyes rounded with lust, and when you swiped at the precome at his tip he squeezed his eyes shut to compose himself. “I just need you. Need you to make me feel good, however you see fit.”

“Yeah, want me to take the lead, then? Make all the decisions, have you not worry about any of it? Order you around, dominate you?”

He nodded, resting his forehead against yours and then chasing your lips with his and you tutted, “Ah, ah. Be a good boy, then. If you want something, ask for it.”

“Okay.” His voice was small and whiney, he was gone. “Can I keep kissing you, please?”

You hummed your approval “There’s a good boy.” You hovered over his lips, still tugging at him nice and slow, making him pant in anticipation. “Go on then, kiss me.”

You got lost in the kiss. It felt too good to be just a kiss, you were wondering how you were going to handle more. And more seemed to be exactly what he had in mind as well, his hands starting to roam gently over your body. “Ah, puppy, you were doing so good. Hands behind your back until you learn to ask, alright?” He complied reluctantly, visibly frustrated because he’d really wanted to cup a feel, but also just as visibly excited to do things on your terms and finally get a taste of what this new dynamic might feel like.

“Tell you what, I”ll let you kiss what you can’t touch yet, how’s that sound?”

He whimpered at the sound of that and you walked back towards the bed and sat at the edge. “Go on then, on your knees pretty boy.” You willed yourself to take it slow, make it a pleasurable experience for him- a memorable experience. Reminded yourself to pay special attention to his body language, as he wouldn’t know to communicate if he wasn’t entirely comfortable with any of what you planned on doing. This was uncharted territory for him. You had to be responsible and make him feel safe at his most vulnerable. So, you couldn’t lose yourself in it and dive right in, as you would with people that have toyed with powerplay before. 

You couldn’t wait to have your way with him, but as it just so happens, you were also very much into edging as well, so, really, it was a win-win.

You parted your knees for him to kneel in between and then moved your hands behind your back, untying your bra and slowly peeling it off of your torso. His eyes darkened considerably at the sight of your bare breasts, and his hands came to rest over your thighs as he got closer, growing a lot more impatient. You swatted them away, “Hands behind your back, Harry. Don’t make me have to tell you again.”

“Sorry, I’m sorry– I just… Fuck, Y/N,” he shook his head, trying to calm himself down, hands obediently behind his back. “Can I taste, then? Please?”

You smirked at him, happy to see he was playing along as you’d hoped “Of course you can, baby. Been waiting for you to wrap those pretty pink lips around my nipples. Go on then,” you brought his head closer by the back of his neck, guiding him towards your left breast and he immediately latched onto it, sucking greedily, his mouth nice and warm and wet, making you throw your head back. “Oh god, so good. Love your mouth, puppy.”

Harry looked blissed out, alternating between sucking on your nipple and licking all around it, mouthing at the underside of your boob and over to the other one, lathering them both in his saliva, wet and noisy and perfect, just like you knew he’d be. “Been waiting for this?” He mumbled against your bud watching for your reaction, and even though he was trying to tease a bit you could see vulnerability in his eyes as he waited for your reply.

You nodded, biting your lower lip “Have had the fattest crush on you ever since I can remember. Fuck, I could come from this alone…” you whined, he was really good at this. But then again, you always knew he’d be. Just because he hadn’t explored his subby side didn’t mean he hadn’t explored everything else. “Don’t act surprised. I’m sure it was painfully obvious,” you murmured, your turn to feel shy.

That made him moan against your breast, biting on the plump flesh and no doubt leaving a bit of a mark and you allowed it, since you loved it so much anyway. “Wish I’d known sooner.”

You didn’t dwell on it for too long. You couldn’t allow yourself to, didn’t wanna catch the wrong idea and get ahead of yourself. Maybe you’ll talk about it later, but right now? Right now he was working you up into a frenzy. “Well, you know about it now. What’cha gonna do about it, pretty boy?”

“Whatever you want me to do.”

You sunk your fingers between his braids and tugged at the roots a bit, unlatching his mouth from your breasts. The lewdest moan left his lips before you pulled him in for another sloppy kiss. He was growing needy and you could practically see him slip further and further into his subspace. “Love this greedy mouth, H. What else can it do, hm?”

“Please, Y/N. Let me eat that pussy.”

You smirked, that was music to your ears. “Good boy, puppy. Love it when you ask nicely. You gonna lap me up, make me come on your tongue?”

“Please, please.” He reached to kiss you again and you laughed against his mouth.

“Greedy puppy. Remember you need to ask first. You’ll learn though, won’t you?”

“I’ll do anything. I’m sorry, I will. Just– please...”

“You can use your hands to hold me open, but I only want your mouth on my pussy. Alright? I’ll let you know when you can do more.”

He nodded vigorously against your lips and kissed you a few more times for good measure before pulling back a bit and watching as you untied your bikini from the sides, pulling the damp fabric off of you and finally exposing yourself to him fully.

You scooted back a bit, leaning on your elbows and gestured for him to have at it. With laboured breathing, he glanced at you for a second before he pressed his hands against the undersides of your thighs and planted the soles of your feet on the edge of the bed, spreading you open for him.

He moaned loudly at the sight, his eyebrows pinching together as if in pain. “Fuck, Y/N. You’re dripping for me. Fuck, fuck…”

“Do something about it, then.” Your own voice was starting to betray just how far gone you were as well. You were gagging for it now, but you were hellbent on dragging this out for his sake more than yours. All you wanted was for him to sink that glorious cock inside of you and end your suffering, but you could wait it out a bit, especially when it meant watching him stare at your pussy as though it was his favourite dessert.

He wasted no time, bending over you and dragging his tongue slowly up your folds in one delicious swipe. He wrapped his lips around your clit, humming loudly against it, and your head fell back, crying out your pleasure when he started lapping at you in earnest. He made sure to sink the tip of his tongue ever so slightly into your weeping hole on each pass, then dragged it back up focusing on your clit again.

He ate you out like he was kissing you, same sloppy, yet intense, unpracticed manner. He just did what felt right to him and what he found you were most responsive to. Right off the bat, you could tell you were done for. This man ate pussy like it was his favourite cheat meal. 

“So good, Y/N. Fuck, I’m losing it.”

“Wanna use your fingers, pretty boy? Slide one or two inside of me, feel me out? Coat those pretty, painted nails in my juices?”

Harry whined “Pretty like yours?”

“Prettier,” you smiled remembering your same reply from earlier on the beach.

A strangled moan escaped his lips as he buried his face against your core and nuzzled your clit with that perfect nose of his. He was hellbent on getting you off, and truth be told, you were holding off your orgasm. Nobody had gotten you there quite as fast before.

“Do it then, get me nice and ready for that big fat cock of yours.”

He groaned, resting his forehead against your thigh momentarily, then shook his head smilingly. He was both in agony and ecstasy, the anticipation visibly killing him. He brought his middle finger to his mouth, sucking on it, getting it all nice and wet and you caught his wrist before he brought it to your weeping core, wrapping your own lips around it first.

He cried out as though you’d just taken his cock in your mouth instead, which was exactly what you’d hoped for. “Now get to it, baby. Wanna soak those fingers.”

“Fuck. Yes, please.” He got right to it, running his finger through your folds before finally sinking it inside you, agonisingly slowly. “So tight, fuck, Y/N. Can’t wait to bury myself in this snug little pussy…”

He leaned back in to suck on your clit as he began petting your front wall with the pad of his meaty finger and you collapsed on your back completely. When he added a second finger, you lost it.

“So good, Harry. Fuck, you’re so good. Eat that pussy just right. Gonna come all over your pretty face.”

“Please, please do it, Y/N. Need it.” He whined, increasing the speed of his thrusts and pressure he applied to your g-spot. He lapped and sucked on your clit noisily, moaning everytime you clamped around his fingers, getting closer and closer to your release.

And when you finally came, he kept at it, burying his face flush against your pussy and lapping up all your juice like a starved man. You knew if he kept going you’d come again, but that would take too much out of you and you still wanted him to fuck you.

You wasted no time, bending to kiss his lips in gratitude while you still felt some of the aftershocks run through you. “Need you inside me now, baby. Want you to ruin me, think you can do that?”

He nodded against your lips, smearing your arousal all over your own face as well and he then went to kitten-lick it off of you as you crawled back on the bed, pulling him with you. “I can, I know I can. Let me be good for you, Y/N.”

“You’re so good for me, H. Made me see stars with how good you are. I just know once you sink inside me you’ll ruin me for everyone else. Want you to.”

Harry looked as though he was high. As though he couldn’t believe what he was experiencing was actually real. He looked dazed out and he was sweating, panting heavily in anticipation. “Been edging myself for a while, and I almost came when I had my mouth on you. Dunno how long I’m gonna last… will you give me another chance if, if–”

You chuckled softly at how frenzied he seemed “I won’t mind if you come fast, puppy. Just ask me for permission before you do, alright? We got all the time to play, and I still wanna suck you off, too. The only reason I haven’t yet is because I knew you’d not last long and I wanted to edge you a bit first, since you told me you’d like it. Did you not like it, baby?”

“I loved it, love you telling me what to do, when to do it. Never had this before. Never knew how much I needed it. Please, Y/N, I need to be inside you.”

You opened up your thighs even more for him “Rub that pretty cock all over my pussy, Harry, get it nice and wet.”

He bit his lower lip, positioning himself right at your entrance and wrapping his hand around himself finally. He squeezed tightly, trying to compose himself a bit and then dragged himself between your folds just like you’d told him to. He slapped his tip against your clit a few times which made you arch your back and then felt him at your entrance, the stretch already making you clamp around his tip.

“Go on, puppy, fuck me good. Want to feel you all the way up into my belly.”

Harry groaned loudly at your words and the feel of you engulfing him perfectly. Once he got his fat head past your entrance, and you clamped down on him on instinct, he pulled back, making you cry out. 

“Sorry, sorry! Fuck, that was–”

“It’s alright baby, try again, I know you can do it. Know you can hold off a bit, be a good boy, hm? I need you so much.” You whined, pulling him in for a kiss and giving him a moment of reprieve to gather his bearings.

He didn’t even need to guide himself into you, he was hard enough to push right in, and you didn’t break the kiss as you moaned into each other’s mouths. You let him kiss you as he slowly worked his way inside you, all the way to the hilt and you threw your head back when he pushed against your cervix deliciously. “Fuck me, you’re so deep; gonna be so sore, Harry. Make it hurt, baby, come on.”

Harry gritted his teeth, mustering all his stamina to focus. He was too far gone to tease, and so were you, so he sat back on his haunches and threw your legs over his shoulders, thrusting into you at a fast, steady pace. He held your hips tightly at first, then moved his large hands lower under your bum, lifting it off the mattress and working you over him to meet his thrusts all the more intensely. You cried out, it was a lot to take in. He was quite large and girthy as it was, and he was rock hard. But it hurt so good.

When you reached your hand to rub your clit, Harry groaned so loud you thought he was coming. But he pushed through, squeezing his eyes shut and focusing on holding off. “None of that, puppy. Look at me. Look what you do to me. Gonna come for you again, I’m so close. Please. If you’re a good boy I’ll let you come all over my tits… you know… since we skipped the rubber.”

Harry’s eyes went from blissed out to shocked, his movements slowing down considerably- he’d clearly absolutely forgotten all about protection.

“Relax, H. I’m on birth control. And I’m clean.” And, you’d totally forgot about it too. So you couldn’t let him take all the blame for being reckless.

Harry choked out a sigh of relief. “I am too! Got tested after I found out she’d been cheating… Fuck, I’m so sorry, Y/N… we hadn’t been using any, she was on the pill… It totally slipped my mind–”

You took the opportunity to flip him over and straddle him. “Shhh. Enough of that. You’ve been so good for me, baby. Just sit back and let me take care of my good boy.”

You wasted no time getting you both back on the brink of orgasm. Harry even brought his thumb to your clit, as his large hands held you flush against him, coaxing you to grind yourself on him as deep as he would go, remembering to ask for permission first, which made you whimper and praise him for being so well mannered. 

“Please, Y/N… wanna be good for you… but–”

“Wanna come, puppy?”

He nodded frantically “I’m gonna burst, it’s too good… you’re too good. You feel amazing. You’re such a wet dream, Y/N.”

His voice was raspy with need. You could tell he was trying his level best to wait for you to come, and you decided to have mercy on him “Beg. Beg for me to let you come, Harry.”

He threw his head back, his muscles taut, struggling to hold off. “Please, please… Fuck, I’m desperate, please baby…”

“Hmmm… should I? I haven’t come yet…” you teased, clamping down around him to push him over the edge. 

But you gasped in surprise when he pulled you flush against him, holding you tight, and started thrusting into you with wild abandon as he panted into your ear “I’m begging. Come for me, Y/N. Please. Need you to come. Give it to me.”

You lost it. The sudden flip in demeanour had you spiralling, and he was fucking into you so good, the angle just right, that it threw you over the edge, taking you completely by surprise. You’d been extremely close, but the way he went about it had made you come instantly.

Feeling you spasm all around him and hearing you moan and whimper loudly had him join you immediately. You were both crying out your pleasure, and it was downright pornographic. You’d kept it at a reasonable volume throughout, seeing that you were in a hotel room and knowing your friends might come back from dinner any moment, but neither could hold back when you finally reached your peaks.

Harry kept you flush against him as you both tried steadying your breathing and your heartbeats and then searched for your mouth, giving you a lazy kiss. “Sorry for not asking permission… at the end, there.”

The hint of mischief in his voice wasn’t lost on you. You hummed, biting his lower lip teasingly “Guess I’ll have to punish you for that.”

A smirk tugged at his lips as he gently placed a loose strand of your wavy hair from over your sweaty temple to behind your ear “Was hoping you’d say that.”

lhh Masterlist

A/N: missed writing for my favorite muse! and it's my first time writing subrry! hope i did him justice ❤️

💕 like & reblog if you enjoyed this, lovelies, and most importantly, please come share your thoughts on it here 💌

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[nadvs]

enemies to lovers with rafe. you go on a road trip with your friends (including topper etc..). one night reader and the rest of the friendgroup gets high and reader and rafe ends up fucking. pretty pretty please

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

content warning drug use

You don’t know why Rafe hates you so much. Since you set out on your road trip this morning, he’s been standoffish. But that’s nothing new from him. He’s always had an attitude reserved specifically for you.

You’ve always assumed he didn’t like you butting in on guy time, but Topper and Kelce have been your best friends since you were kids. You’re not going to stop spending time with them just because Rafe doesn’t want you around.

You’re in the backseat with Kelce, windows down as Rafe drives and Topper controls the music. You’ve been on the road for a few hours now, sights set on a beach house you rented to spend the night in.

When you stop at a gas station, Topper and Kelce pile out of the car to load up on snacks. You’re slower than them as you collect your things. You notice Rafe waiting by your open door, stood between the car and the pump.

“Today,” he snaps. You realize he’s trying to get to the gas tank.

“You can go around,” you reply.

“I shouldn’t have to,” he says tensely. “Why are you so fucking slow?”

You slide out of your seat and your feet find the ground, shutting the door and facing Rafe. He towers over you with a clenched jaw, glaring down at you.

“You have your whole life to be an asshole,” you mutter. “Can’t you take a day off? For once?”

He only gives you the same glare you’ve been on the receiving end of for months.

“What’s your problem?” you ask.

“My problem?” he mutters. Instead of your usual sharp retort, Rafe watches your face fall ever so slightly.

“What did I do to you?” you say softly, at a loss for why he’s always so combative towards you.

He scoffs and brushes past you, no regard for personal space as his body presses against yours. You hate that the feeling sends a rush of arousal through you. You despise him, but you can’t deny that he’s attractive.

As Rafe fills up the gas tank, he thinks about how much he hates that you look at him like that. Like you’re revolted by him.

He shakes his head. You’re so goddamned stuck-up. From the moment he met you, he could tell you’d never even glance in his direction. He never stood a chance and you love to make it obvious.

When you arrive at the beach house, you have dinner with your friends, ignoring Rafe like usual. The four of you head down to the beach to get high and watch the sunset.

Rafe trails behind you as you make your way to the shore, watching the way your ass moves with every step, feeling himself getting hard like he always does when he stares at you too long.

After a few puffs of the joint, your head starts swimming with bliss. You sit by the shore together, feet digging into the soft sand, warm wind pressing against your skin, soaking every sensation in.

Rafe watches the way the setting sun hits your features. He knows he’s not sober if he’s admitting to himself that you’re beautiful. He’s supposed to hate you.

The conversation between your friends is silly and hard to follow as it always is when you get high together. You’re not sure how much time passes when the boys call it a night.

You decide to stay sitting on the beach alone, letting the high wash over you as the waves pull up and down the shore, the moonlight glistening on the water.

Rafe’s been thinking about how you looked at him earlier today all night. The way you asked him what you did to him is turning over and over in his mind and he can’t shake it.

He decides to knock on your door after everyone has already gone to bed, but you don’t answer. When he looks out of the glass patio doors and spots your silhouette way out in the distance, he makes his way out into the warm night.

You hear someone say your name. You’re speechless when you turn to see Rafe walking towards you, shirtless, hair wet from the shower, hands stuffed in the pockets of his sweatpants. You try not to stare.

You can’t think of why the hell he would come here. If you two aren’t arguing, you’re ignoring each other.

“What?” you finally say, scowling. Rafe sits next to you, making your brows furrow in confusion.

You’ve never been plunged into privacy with him like this before.

Rafe doesn’t know what’s gotten into him. It must be a twisted mix of the weed and the way you looked at him and how long he’s been grappling with the fact that he wants you.

“You wanna know what you did to me?” he asks. “What you did - what you keep fucking doing is looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you-” He takes a breath, irritation and confusion and vulnerability gripping him. “Like you’re disgusted by me.”

“Rafe,” you scoff. God, even the way you say his name is spiteful. “You’re joking, right? You’ve been mean to me since we met.”

“Because you hate me for no fucking reason.”

“You thought I hated you, so you decided to hate me back?” you snap. “You’re ridiculous. You can…”

You were about to tell him he can leave you alone now, but the depth in his stare and the movement of his rising and falling chest and the sight of his big, bare arms propped up on his knees ignites lust to curl deep in your core.

“I can what?” he says, leaning closer to you. You can smell his sharp body wash, eyes widening when you notice just how nice his lips are.

It’s a look you’ve never given him before. At least, he’s never seen it himself.

“You always such a fucking mouth on you. Now you won’t talk?” he scoffs. “I can what? Do this?”

He leans even closer, eyes half-lidded as he gazes down at you, his mouth an inch away from yours. He hovers, so prideful that he’s forcing you to have to make the final move.

“You can do whatever you want,” you mutter, throwing the pressure back onto him.

Rafe can’t control himself anymore. He cups your cheek roughly, crashing his lips onto yours so hard that you jolt backwards. He doesn’t lose contact, shoving you down to the ground, grinding his growing cock against you.

His mouth is hot, his tongue pushing into your mouth with fervor. You can’t believe that someone you thought despised you is touching you like this.

Your hands roughly drag up Rafe’s warm, firm back and he smiles against your lips, revelling in the feeling of you wanting him, too.

He could have been doing this instead of arguing with you? How much time has he wasted?

Eager hands slip under your shirt and when he dips into your bra to palm your breasts, he exhales sharply. He pulls back, his breath on your cheek as he kneads you, thumbs rubbing over your nipples.

“Whatever I want, huh?” he rasps. “What if I want to fuck you?”

“Then do it,” you reply, your own words shocking you.

Your shorts are soon bunched into a pile by your feet between hard kisses. His hand settles between your legs, pushing your panties to the side, his fingers dipping between your folds, spreading you open.

“Damn,” Rafe whispers, running his hand up and down your wet core. You feel so fucking perfect. This is what he’s been missing out on?

The sensation of his smooth, slow strokes gives you goosebumps. It feels amazing all on its own, but combined with the solace of the drugs in your system, it’s otherwordly.

Rafe dips past the waistband of his sweats and pulls his cock out, almost breathless when he lines himself up against your entrance.

You spread your legs wider, needy for him. He looks down at you, the planes of his handsome face shadowed by the night, as he slowly fills you, every inch better than the last.

He loves the way you squeeze your eyes shut and gasp as he bottoms out inside you. Your fingers dig into his shoulders as he rocks back and forth, thrusts quickly getting hard and fast.

Rafe grips your face with one hand, squeezing your cheeks and tilting your head to look at him. You meet his eyes, your moans louder than the waves crashing behind you.

He finds your clit with ease, rubbing in circles, making you tremble when you reach your peak. His thrusts get sloppy as you cum, following you quickly, mumbling a string of fuck’s with his orgasm.

Rafe collapses on top of you, your breaths fast and shallow.

When he sits up to gaze at you again, he thinks about how this blissful, fucked out look on your face is so much better than the glares you’re always giving him. And he wants to keep earning this specific look from you over and over and over again.

[little-pondhead]

[this is kind of a messy ramble, sorry about that]

Demon Twins AU, except Danny is loyal to the League.

The League of Assassins is a “cult” for a reason. They know what they’re doing. Ra’s has been around for a very long time; he’s seen every trick in the book and then some.

So when his daughter Talia gave him two, near-identical twin grandsons, he had already planned out their lives by the time the sun had set on their first day living. He knew the plans weren’t perfect. Nothing ever went exactly how he wanted it to. But that was the joy of being absolutely fucking ancient. Ra’s adapted better than anyone. If something went wrong, Ra’s will simply work around the issue and live to see another day.

So the boys were raised as he wished. Ruthless, with sharp blades and even sharper wit. They matched each other in every way, blow for blow. Neither won more than the other, and Ra’s encouraged the competition between the twins. Eventually, the battle for title of Heir came, and Damian won that particular match.

Danny was fine with this. Thrilled, even, for his brother to earn the title of Heir. The boys were very close, and worked well to take down targets twice their size. Ra’s approved this, and granted Danny title of Shadow. He was to be Damian’s eternal shadow, a guard. Both Talia and the boys were pleased with this.

But then came the time for the boys to learn how to live without each other. They’d gotten too used to someone guarding their back. Too complacent and too confident in their roles. Ra’s knew it would happen, and so sent Danny off at a very young age to live with some sleeper agents in America.

The Fentons.

Damian would stay here, with Talia, to learn how to be the perfect Heir. He needed to learn how to fight without the assistance of his brother.

Danny would go to Amity Park, and be fostered by the Fentons. He needed to put his skills to practical use and learn how to live without constant orders.

This was their Test.

Damian did quite well, for a while. Until Talia sent him off to his birth father, The Bat. Reports on his behavior declined in quality after that, and Ra’s couldn’t help but feel dissatisfaction with how the Heir had been corrupted.

Danny’s reports were always immaculate, however. His mask never slipped, and he’d worked himself into the hearts of the townspeople. The sleeper agents, Jack and Maddie, had a daughter who was quite enthusiastic about the properties of the mind, and accept Ra’s instructions to teach Danny with ease. It was the ideal situation.

In Ra’s eyes, Danny was thriving. Damian was not.

And then Ra’s died. The League was in shambles. Damian was at peace with his family, away from the cult he grew up in. He assumed Danny had defected years ago, since their mother stopped giving him reports about his twin.

Then Danny showed up at the Wayne’s doorstep, decked out in full League attire, angry and hostile.

“Tell me, dear brother,” he spat. “Why did you not inform me that Grandfather had died? I had to find out through his spirit when it came to visit from the afterlife!”

Damian didn’t know what to say.

[m3talmunson]

It started with babes. Babes is completely platonic right? Nothing out of the ordinary there. Eddie was known for being over dramatic, why would nicknames -or in this case, pet names- be any different?

Babes wasn't even that over the top, so why was Steve blushing like a school girl after it was said in passing?

Steve definitely knew why, although, he was going to pretend he didn't. But he knew, about himself, about Eddie. A couple months after spring break '86 Steve had a very enlightening talk with Robin about his feelings. Towards Munson. Those completely and totally platonic feelings.

And a couple weeks later, as though Eddie was so in tune with Steve's discovery, Eddie came out to Steve at a campfire with Robin and Nance. Those two had wandered off, Eddie made some comment about "Good for Robs," before realizing his mistake. That was, until Steve said "Yeah, good for Robs," and Eddie just had to ask.

"You know about her? Y'know..."

"What? Eddie? Of course! She's my best friend."

"And you're ok with it?" Eddie was kind of shocked. Great 'King' Steve wasn't going to sick the dogs on Hawkins Local Lesbian? And it seemed like he had known longer than Eddie?

"Yeah, when you survive hell and back enough it's pretty hard to hate anyone for being gay." Steve left off the part where he was also into guys. He knew Eddie was ok with that, clearly ok with Robin, but Eddie might not be ok with being the guy Steve was into.

"Oh. Well," Eddie didn't know if it was the couple beers he had downed, or his newfound safety with this big ol' group of misfits, but he was comfortable asking Steve, "What if I was like Robin too?"

"Are you?" Steve asked. He wasn't going to get his hopes up over hypotheticals, but he could admit he had feelings for the older boy. He wasn't sure what feelings to be honest,but he was figuring that out as he went. He just knew they were more than platonic.

"Well, technically I'm the opposite of Robin, y'know. Not attracted to women. But yeah, I am." Eddie stared into the camp fire, torn between hoping that it would eat him alive, or that it would simply stare back.

"Okay, thanks for trusting me." Steve responded, plain as day.

He had asked Robin, if someone were to come out to him (granted they were not just drugged by Russians), what would she have wanted to hear. And he finally got the chance to use it, seeing the way Eddie's shoulders dropped in relief.

"So you're like actually ok with it?"

"Like I said, been to hell and back with you, who you love doesn't mean a thing over that."

" Yeah," Eddie said,"But most straight guys don't like it when gay guys flirt relentlessly with them."

"We'll keep that one between us then, won't we?" Steve wasn't entirely ready to correct Eddie on the straight thing, so he just didn't acknowledge that part. He chose to ignore the blush rise on his face, blaming it internally on the heat of the fire.

He also tried to ignore that at that point, the nicknames picked up.

It started with babes. Then baby, which made Steve's brain flutter. Then sweetheart. Eddie only used that one when he wanted something, and yet Steve still loved it. Stevie was one of the fan favorites. Not really a pet name, but used just as lovingly as one. Sometimes Eddie held out the end, in a sing-song voice. Made Steve weak in the knees. Eddie knew what he was doing.

It was babe that made Steve do something about it. Eddie used sweetheart, baby, Stevie, around everyone. In front of the kids, on his various trips to Family Video (whether to buy or annoy, who knew). But babe. Babe was just for Steve and Steve alone.

So of course, the only logical order of events was for Steve to start using them back.

It started with babe, the obvious choice. Fight fire with fire, or whatever. The meaningless pet names ended with babes too.

Because after Eddie kissed Steve to shut him up, they suddenly had meaning.

[talaok]

Could you write about Pedro x Reader's first kiss? She's also an actress, and they became great friends while filming a movie together. Eventually, they fall in love... and, well, their first kiss happens. Just something really fluffy and romantic :) love u

Pairing: Pedro pascal x gn!reader

a/n: love you more <3 babe, also for some reason I wrote the beginning of this like it's the monologue at the start of a rom-com so don't mind that, i haven't written in a while, i need to get back into it

You weren't looking for love.

You weren't looking for anything really, just a new job, a new role, a reason to get away from the city for a while, and then... and then as always life got in the way.

They say love comes when you're least expecting it, and I guess they were right, because if there was one thing you weren't expecting, was to fall in love with the guy you spilled coffee on your first day on set.

But then again, already then you knew something was different, as he laughed while you stood there mortified, as picked up the cup for you, as he smiled like you'd just done him a favor, as he said "y/n, right? I already like you", already then, you had known something was different.

Pedro became your lifeline, he was the person who made you get through every day, he was the one who made you smile, laugh and even giggle like a teenager at the most inappropriate times, he was the one you'd go to after every rough day, and he was the one you'd rant to whenever you needed, and for him... for him you became exactly the same.

You were inseparable, on and off set, you were always together, but always just as friends. Perhaps you were scared of that deep, guttural feeling that was starting to settle in your chest, and perhaps he was terrified of the idea of making the first move, of confessing that you were an everlasting thought in his mind, that his heart skipped a beat at your every smile, he was petrified at the idea you could reject him, and nothing would ever be the same, but as it turns out, all you needed were a few drinks and a wrap-up party for your movie.

You had sneaked out into a quieter room because you didn't like parties all that much, and there was no chance in hell he was leaving you alone.

You were sitting on a sofa, resting for a moment, when you said: "so I guess this is the last time we'll see each other for a while"

And he'd frowned, turning to you

"What are you talking about?"

"well we won't see each other every day now that the movie's done, that's all" you shrugged, biting your lip,

And for some reason, that made him laugh

"sweetheart if you think you're getting rid of me this easily, you're sadly mistaken"

"oh-wh-" you smiled "I don't wanna get rid of you!"

"I sure hope so" he tilted his head, grinning 

"of course not" you shook your head, fixing the collar of his shirt "You..." you trailed off, freezing as your eyes met his, and you realized how close you really were.

"I what?" he asked, the smile on his face decreasing as he too, started sensing the tension building in the room.

"You know, asshole" you murmured

"No I don't" he argued, his hand on your waist "What were you about to say?"

You tried taking a deep breath, but your lungs weren't really cooperating, and his hand felt very pleasant on your body.

"You... you're important to me Pedro" you confessed, your voice faint, honest.

And right then, right then he knew that this was the turning point, the moment he was gonna have to risk it all, or regret it for the rest of his life.

"you're important to me too y/n" he whispered, gently leaning closer, until his mouth was ghosting yours "Very important," he said, before inevitably, his lips met with yours and you both let go, let go of your fears, and opened up to each other, to love, to everything that could, and will now be.

[skullsuited]

primal.

an lhh!era smut blurb featuring a breeding kink, hair pulling, mentions of a sex toy (pussy plug) and insinuation of a creampie.

Harry’s propped himself up on his forearms, strands of his hair are sticking to his forehead and neck because he and his girl have been going at it hard.

The only real noise coming from their bedroom is the way the bed is creaking underneath the weight of Harry’s pointed, timed thrusts, skin occasionally slapping against each other, his heavy breathing and soft grunts leaving his kiss swollen, shiny raspberry lips and she’s whining, back arched slightly, moaning his name like some sort of holy prayer.

Harry licks his lips, then pauses his thrusts for a moment, settling most of his weight on top of his lover as he guides his right arm away from the side of her head, coating two of his fingers with his saliva and slowly inching his hand down in between their bodies, the pads of them rubbing gently over her sensitive pink pearl. She gasps, hands tangling in his hair and pulling, making him growl — Harry adores having his hair pulled. “Yeh want to cum f’ me, baby?” He asks her, nose nudging against her own, lips parted and ghosting over hers. Harry has continued his thrusts now; languid, but rough. He’s really taking the words ‘fucking someone into the mattress’ to a whole new level.

The woman, this divine little creature underneath him can’t even speak, a bubble caught in her throat as he fucks her. “Words, angel. Need t’ hear you, yeah?” He hums, fingers continuing to work on her clit in pressured, slow little circles. “Oh, please, Harry,” She finally manages, swallowing thickly. “Please make me cum.” She begs him quietly and this surge of pride, of satisfaction washes over him. Harry craves her release; knows he needs it in order to feel like he’s done a good job in bed. “Yeah, pet. I’ll make yeh cum. Fuck, m’ goin’ to make you cum so hard, I promise you.” He swears, practically vows to her and all she can do is nod, “Put a baby in me.”

That stirs something up in him, awakens this primal urge to fill her up the only physical way he can. A wrecked noise leaves his throat, jaw slack, lips brushing over hers and catching against her teeth. “Goin’ to put a baby in yeh. Goin’ to.. hell, goin’ to plug your cunt an’ make sure it sticks.” He growls, teeth clashing against hers in this heated, sloppy kiss and he thinks their souls are bound in this very moment, that his seed is the source of this woman’s happiness. The two fingers he’s got on her clit are rubbing a bit faster now, he’s barely lifting his hips to really thrust, only grinding against her to edge his cock further into her cunt.

She whines against his lips, panting as her impending orgasm draws closer, the pressure in between her legs growing heavier. "Fuck, Har-Harry.." The sweet, unholy angel gasps between bated breaths, manicured claws scratching at Harry's scalp. "I'm going- I'm going to cum."

He growls, a low thrumming in the back of his throat. Emerald eyes are dilated, onyx pupils creating a black hole of lust and affection for the beauty taking his cock beneath him. "Cum f' me, baby. Cum all over my cock." Harry urges her, his two fingers on her bundle of nerves flickering and playing as she gasps sharply, features twisting up in pleasure as her orgasm washes over her body, flooding her system. Her nails claw at his head, the pinpricks of pain sending a shiver down his spine and before he can realize, his own release crashes over him like a wave, drowning, lapping over him as though he was stuck in the ocean during a storm.

"Fuck!" He swears, hips stuttering against her own. Harry's hands slide up his lover's body, grasping at her hips and the sheets around her. His head tilts back, eyebrows furrowed, and eyes screwed shut as he empties himself inside of her, groaning. His body is still, sweaty, flush against his darling's as they come down from their highs as two panting messes.

"You," She begins, swallowing and catching her breath, "You should grab that plug you were talking about..."

Harry chuckles breathlessly, nodding, "Yeah. I will, jus- just let me stay here for a moment."

Wordlessly, they lay together. Unmoving, intertwined together in intimacy and adoration, minds shifting past the primal urges felt only moments before and settling into a state of bliss.

[answer2jeff]

SHARING SPACE — Carmen Berzatto.

synopsis: just a blurb, how you ended up moving in with Carmen :)

warnings: established relationship, reader is implied female (but little use of specific pronouns), fluffy headcanons, some smutty implications, some smutty implications but still fluff, mentions of alcohol and smoking, blurb is set once they're rebranding The Beef into The Bear.

i need more Carmen fluff this man is my whole life. btw this is super short but i'm sooooo burnt out :'(

It started with you "accidentally" falling asleep in his bed from the night before, panicking and hurrying to put your clothes in the morning before he had to rush to work. You weren't technically dating, but you were too close for comfort to be considered something as shallow as "friends with benefits." It was more than that.

But then things seemed to slow down. It turned into spending an extra ten minutes enveloped in each others arms. You shared, "good mornings" between sickly sweet kisses, his hands feeling up and down your torso while your fingers entangled in his hair. Carmen whispered about how much he didn't want to leave—as much as both of you knew he had to.

"You're gonna be late, Carmy." You'd groan, cupping his clean-shaven face and planting small kisses on his cheeks. Carmen let out a sigh of disappointment, realizing his short moment of bliss would be over the second he thought about leaving.

"I'm gonna clean up, 'kay?" He'd mumble, kissing your sweet lips one last time. His pupils dilated at the sight of you in his sheets, something he wish he didn't have to cherish from how little free time he seemed to have.

"Mhm."

Once he'd hop in the shower, you'd get yourself dressed before pouring him a warm cup of coffee, occasionally placing any dirty dishes stranded in the kitchen in the sink as an act of courtesy. You'd check the time, 7:00am,

As much as it pained you to leave without a proper goodbye, you worried that Carmen needed space- that he didn't have time to pepper kisses along your cheeks before he left.

"Bye Carmy!" You'd call out, but not quite loud enough for him to hear from the bathroom.

He wished you would've stayed just a little longer.

Eventually, you caught on. At one point, you swore you saw Carmen popping his head back into his bedroom to see if you were still there as you were already halfway out the door. From that point on, you started leaving little notes next to his coffee, littered with "I'm so proud of you," and sweet comments like, "break a leg Bear," and sometimes even an "I'll see you soon."

Then it turned into spending all weekend, every weekend, in his apartment—even though you'd been stopping by the restaurant between closing hours, and spending a good hour or two with him every other day of the week.

It just wasn't enough.

You started bringing a share-sized blanket and bottles of your favorite drinks whenever you came over, which was practically 4-5 times a week by that point.That blanket ended up rotating between your apartment and his, until it finally resided on the couch.

Wrapping himself in that blanket whenever you weren't around, reminded him that there was something else to think about; that there was someone else who needed him just as much as he did them.

You started leaving little things like your hoop earrings on the kitchen counter, or your puffer jacket on his coatrack, wondering if they'd still be there by next weekend; wondering if Carmen would ever have the heart to give them back to you. (Spoiler alert, he kept everything you ever "forgot"' in the exact same spot. Having a piece of you in his home at all times seemed to make up for your absence during the week, even if it just made him miss you more.)

Then you started packing extra clothes with you that you'd stuff into an empty drawer in Carmen's dresser. You brought your travel-sized, makeup bag with you, which you just ended up leaving in his bathroom. Along with your meds, and your skin care, and practically everything else you couldn't live without.

...

"You should just move in at this point." Carmen let out a breathy laugh as he watched you do your makeup, his eyes meeting yours in the reflection of the bathroom mirror. Not even 20 minutes ago, he saw you pick out an entire outfit from the spare clothes you brought, not even realizing that you left a pair of black shoes that went with everything, right in his shoe rack.

"I practically live here now," you paused to put on some mascara, your mouth gaping open as you tried to concentrate, "but my lease is up on the 23rd." You joked, twisting the cap on your mascara back on and tossing it into your makeup bag.

"I mean—would you want to? Live here? With—with me?" He physically turned to look at you, your reflection not giving him enough clarity. He needed to see you, whether you said yes or no. You felt your stomach turn, and the question seemed unreal.

"I— yeah, I guess. Only if you want me to, but that'd be pretty... cool." You turned your head to face him, gazing into his desperate eyes. He needed to be able to call this apartment "ours," not just "his."

This apartment felt more like a home than you than anywhere else you resided in Chicago. You made your commute to work from this apartment, you ate and showered and slept in this apartment, bits and pieces of you were tossed all around this apartment, you brought home every new piece of clothing and jewelry back to this apartment.

Carmen literally made you keep a spare key in your wallet, advising you to come over whenever you needed something—even if he wasn't home. He trusted you with his space,

He took it upon himself to buy you a toothbrush, the shampoo and conditioner you raved about after he complimented your hair, and extra pads/tampons/menstrual cups (since he wasn't sure what you used,) just for when his bathroom would be occupied by you. He cleaned out the hidden cabinet behind the mirror above the sink, making sure you had a place for all of your things. He moved all of his cologne, deodorant, lotion, etc in the cabinet underneath it.

All he ever wanted was to make sure you felt safe.

[sergle]

I'm thinking abt that pretty fall leaves embroidery pattern post and about how like... it is categorically a repost, it's a reupload. right? a thing that is generally disliked. but because it's credited, it's genuinely boosting the artist in question. and it could ALWAYS be like this. reposting content could ALWAYS be a symbiotic relationship, but because sourcing back to the original creator of something is so uncommon, it's just easier to ask people not to repost it at all. and people still don't understand the difference. or they'll go to the effort of cropping out usernames/signatures to repost something, which is More Effort than literally crediting the creator of something you liked enough to want to repost. Like. I literally don't actually care if my own shit gets reposted, you have to understand. I just don't want it STOLEN. But "do not repost" is easier to write on my art than "you can repost this, but don't alter the image/remove my signature, don't you dare write 'credit goes to the artist' because that is not credit, please link back to my original post or someplace that you can actually find me. please use an actual link/url instead of writing a non-clickable link of my username, because making it text instead of a clickable link cuts the number of people who will go to the effort of visiting my own page in Half." All those aggregate themed accounts, those fuckin annoying as hell instagrams and facebook groups that are like "body positive art we love wamen 💕 hashtag feminism" and then MASS-STEAL plus sized art created by women, if pages like these that always go and steal my older self-portraits and other works... If they just put a link to my prints of those pieces in the text of those posts, or, fuck, my commission info page? I would literally be living on the moon right now. I would have a house on the moon

[seattlesellie]

Abby with a gf who sleeps with plushies hcs? I can see her giving them death stares and shit talking them when gf isn't looking lol

omg i love this one so much! i had to sneak an nsfw one…

also i for some reason see ellie being more of a plushie hater and she was kind of on my mind so i hope this didnt come off as ellie coded rather than abby coded but i tried 😭

♡ imagine just laying on top of your bed with abby, your head on her chest while watching a cheesy romcom <3 ur so comfortable and warm, almost falling asleep on top of her. ur literally in ur happy place just focusing on feeling her soft breaths tickling your hair. all of a sudden, abby starts breathing heavier and heavier and her leg just jumps in anger and youre like wtf abs????

♡ “your stupid fucking dolls” she whines and huffs and you realize shes quite literally surrounded, circled, by about 6 plushies all around her. 2 laying on her head, 3 on the side of the bed being squished on the wall by her figure, and one just fully squished under her ass (u have absolutely no idea how that one even got there.) “theyre not dolls abby theyre my plushies and you better put some respect on their name” you tell her and she gives you this look like why is my girlfriend the weirdest person in the world. then she just side eyes, like fully side eyes, giving one of ur plushies the dirtiest look and elbows it???? 😭 “abby!!!” you whine at her and hit your hand on her chest. “theyre taking up my space!” she responds, like a literal big baby and ur like “dont elbow richard!!!” and she just blows out her eyes “they have names???” “screw you richard” and u immediately grab richard and give him a kiss and shes gasps like “what the hell?” bc who the fuck is richard and why are you giving HIM a kiss and not HER

♡ then ur like “woah… abs… did you just get jealous?” because you know just that look so well and she just huffs “pft no” and states at the ceiling all offended and you decide to make a show out of it bc big jealous baby abby is your favorite kind of abby so you give your plushy even more kisses just to spite her and shes all shocked looking like she just caught you cheating and just tells you “youre insane for that”, takes richard, throws him on the floor with such force and starts giving your face little kisses and whispers “mine mine mine mine” and you just let out these inhumane giggles, borderline screeching bc richards face somehow landed with his eyes directly towards you like *O*

♡ one morning after waking up with abby, u make ur bed while shes sipping on her coffee just staring at u (she loves looking at u doing domestic shit bc it makes her want to bend u over). n every time u make ur bed u make sure to organize all the plushies in the right places (duh they need to stand like soldiers bc they all have their own cliques bc some of them are beefing) you puffed out your pillows all nicely and as soon as you grab one of the plushies off of the floor to put it on your bed abby decides to just grab it and throw it on the floor. literally just robotically throws it on the floor. you dont say anything or even react, just roll your eyes to yourself bc she decided to fuck with you and its 8am and you do NOT have the energy. you grab it off the floor again, put it in its place, and as soon as you go and grab the second plushie, she does it AGAIN. just takes it - and throws it on the floor. you just give her this deadpanned look and shes like “what?” while taking another sip. “abby” you warn, and she just raises her brows like what did i do? 🤨 “stop that” you tell her and go grab it AGAIN. this time she lets it slide and doesnt do anything. u slowly and hesitantly tip toe and go pick up the second plushie, relieved she didnt throw it again, and then - she kicks it from you, picks you up so easily while youre squealing “abby let me go!!!” and she places you on your pillow and says “my plushie, hm?” and ur heart sort of melts and ur kind of a puddle now but u have to make the bed and shes not letting you for like 25 whole minutes

♡ one time, you have manny and her in your apartment to just hang out together. since these 2 are literally always hungry they basically beg you to make them something to eat (usually abby would never tell u to cook, since she loves doing it for you) but she was so tired and had to entertain manny bc if hes left alone for 5 seconds he turns into a 4 year old. so u go and make them some pasta while they chill in the living room. when u come back with their plates (and yours) you literally catch them playing some weird ass version of football with one of your fucking plushies. literally one of them is being thrown around the living room like a balloon from one side to the other and youre so shocked. youre standing there with the plates and immediately put them down on the table and try pushing abby away and shes like “what??? im playing with your dolls” and you start banging on her chest “they. are not. my dolls!!!!!” and she just melts bc ur so cute in ur apron and ur literally almost crying and she just coos at you “im sorry sweetheart im so sorry” but she cant help but laugh and manny’s literally cracking up on the floor

♡ btw. she gets brutual when she fucks u in ur room. you being you, you always insist on turning your plushies around to not face you (because they should not be watching their mom getting raw dogged and thrown around like a literal rag doll on their own bed) and one time while abbys fucking you and youre on all fours she just grabs one of them. and turns it to face you. “ab- abby- no” youre whimpering while getting your insides destroyed and she pants over you “yes abby- yes” mocking you and laughing in your ear forcing you to make direct eye contact with her sworn enemy, richard himself.

[rottengurlz]

oc introductions

[luvrxbunny]

joel would fuck you silly then force you to ride him so he can watch you struggle

this was supposed to end before the cut 😭

“c’mon, baby. you’re never gonna get me t’cum like that.” he grips your hips roughly and fucks you relentlessly for just a second. “like that. okay?” he asks and let’s go. you nod to him eagerly, trying your best to fuck him the way he wants but your brain too mushy to follow through with the action.

you lift yourself on his cock and your legs tremble as you hold yourself up before you drop back down. the shock that runs through your stomach as his dick slides right against your g-spot has you collapsing onto him. your hands wrap around his neck without a second thought, so used to him taking over and helping you. but his hands are tucked behind his head and you can barely fit your hands. “joel—“

you drag out the syllables of his name like a whine and he chuckles at you, heating up your stomach with embarrassment. “what, darlin’?” you whine at his southern drawl, at the pet name and bury your face in his chest. “i need your help. can’t- i can’t do it on my own.” you pout and look up at him, hoping your puppy dog eyes are working properly.

judging but the shuddering sigh that falls his lips we can assume they were working. his hands come to your hips and slam you onto his cock at a painful pace. his eyes are focused on where the two of you connect and little grunts are falling from his lips. “such a fuckin’ princess. can’t do anythin’ for y’self, huh?”

his words have you clenching on his cock, giving a tremble to his voice that only pushes you closer to the edge. “n-need everyone to do stuff for you, hmm? too prissy to put any work in?” you shake your head at him with a moan. “m’just too weak ri-right now, joey. don’ be mean.” your voice is a light whine in his ear as you cling to him.

“mhm. it’s okay darlin’.” his hand comes to cradle the back of your head and his ear gets close to yours. “love that you need my help so bad. can’t get off without me— can’t please yourself the way i can.” his hand grips your jaw and forces your eyes to his “you need me”

his brow furrows as he tries not to cum at the way your eyelids flutter and your hand comes around to play with your clit “i’ll always need you.” he nods at you with a low groan as you squeeze his cock.

he stops moving in you, letting you clench around him as you play with your clit. he holds your face in place and watched how it contorts with pleasure, how your expression becomes more pained and watery the more you suffocate his cock. his eyes look you up and down once, gauging how close you are and that’s what breaks the tension building in your stomach.

the second you’re squeezing around him he groans your name into your face, his head leans forward to crash your lips together as he slowly fills you with his cum. he tenses and twitches against you as he does, muttering a small sounds that resemble “my fuckin’ princess. so perfect f’me” as he thrusts into you.

[cupid-styles]

lace (grumpy!h)

in which Harry is grumpy and mean to Y/N, who's just shy and trying to get through the day, and they're both teaching assistants for the same class.

word count: 4.9k

content warnings/author's notes: h being a dick, grumpy h x soft girl trope &lt;;3 part two will be posted a week from today!

masterlist | talk to me |

part two | part three

Y/N thinks Harry hates her. 

Which is kind of silly, really, because they didn't even know each other prior to being assigned as teaching assistants to the same literary seminar. They roam in two completely different circles and never would have crossed paths if not for the fact that Y/N is an English major and Harry got an A- in the course last year. 

Y/N's initially really excited that Professor Donnolly asked her to be one of her TAs. At their first one-on-one meeting together, she lets Y/N know that there will be one other TA this semester since it's such a large class, but this isn't concerning to her. She's quiet and introverted and an expert at keeping to herself, and she's far more focused on helping students in the seminar and building up her resume. 

So, she's generally pretty careless about the whole thing until Harry strolls in on the first day. He's dressed in all black, a tattered band tee decorating his torso, inky tattoos covering his arms, and a coffee in hand. He doesn't even have a backpack with him, which Y/N finds weird — she'd spent the previous night printing out worksheets and contact information for her batch of students, all of which were neatly filed in a folder in her bag. 

He plops down next to her at the front of the lecture hall and pulls his phone out. Y/N isn't typically very nosey, but she can't help that as she sits there, anxiously awaiting for the class to begin, she notices just about 20 missed texts lighting up his screen. She doesn't think she receives that many messages in a week. 

Because she's shy, she's hesitant to introduce herself, but maybe he doesn't realize there's another TA for the course despite sitting down right next to her. So she clears her throat and nervously picks at a loose string on her knitted cardigan before mustering up the courage to say something. 

"Hi," her voice is scratchy since it's the first time she's said anything all morning, aside from ordering an iced vanilla latte at the on-campus cafe, "I'm Y/N. Are you the other TA for this semester?"

Harry peers up at her with a glaring look. His eyes are so piercing that it almost makes her jump under his gaze. 

"Yeah, I'm Harry. Please don't continue this conversation, I'm hungover."

Y/N's jaw snaps closed at his bluntness, a warm blush encasing her entire body. She's so embarrassed that it physically hurts — and it's enough of a reason to stay quiet every time she sees Harry, twice a week at the seminar.

Weeks go by and nothing changes, the pair seemingly fine with their lack of verbal communication. Every now and then they'll have to physically interact, whether it be passing papers or the one time Harry held the door open for Y/N when they were leaving the lecture hall. She's surprised he didn't purposely slam it in her face.

She'll admit, it bothers her just a tad, but it's just another facet of her personality — an incessant need to people-please — that she scribbles down in her planner as a reminder to bring up in therapy sometime soon.

On Tuesday after class has ended, she's packing up her things, her back to Harry when Professor Donnolly strolls over to their table, the sound of her pumps clacking against the tiled floor. 

"Harry, Y/N, are you two available right now?"

In any other instance, Y/N would find a reason to be busy — her social battery is drained from today's workshopping class, where she went around discussing thesis statements with her assigned group of students — but this TA gig matters to her, especially after she did some online digging on Professor Donnolly and found out she has connections at multiple publishing firms Y/N could only dream of working at. So she sucks it up and bears herself for whatever her presence is needed for, even if it means being around Harry.

"I'm free," Y/N replies and Harry grunts out some form of affirmative answer. 

"Great!" Donnolly claps her hands together, "So listen, I'm seriously behind in going through these outlines and they need to be graded and handed back by Thursday's class. Do you guys think you could make a dent in the stack this afternoon? You could use my office while I teach this next lecture."

The thought of sitting in an office alone with Harry sounds absolutely humiliating, but to her surprise, he's the one that agrees to it before she even has a chance to run it through her brain. She zones out while Donnolly hands Harry the keys to her office, providing instructions on where the papers and rubric are, before he's turning on his heel and heading in the direction of the English department. Y/N scrambles and throws her bag over her shoulder, her chunky oxfords squeaking as she rushes to catch up to Harry. 

"You don't have to join me," Harry grumbles once she finally reaches him so they're walking side by side, "I'm perfectly capable of grading these outlines by myself." 

With a wrinkle in her brow, Y/N hugs her backpack strap closer to her body. "She asked both of us, so I'm helping."

"Yeah, but she doesn't have to know if you duck out to do whatever shit you do in your free time. Volunteering with the elderly or summat."

He mutters the last part under his breath, but Y/N hears it. Pain quickly zips through her stomach but it's gone just as quickly as it entered. 

"I don't volunteer with the elderly," is her final comeback, albeit mumbled as they reach Donnolly's office. Harry stuffs the key in the lock and twists the door open before flicking the lights on and zeroing in on the stack of papers on her desk. 

"Right, well, you act like a fuckin' church mouse, so apologies if my assumptions are a bit off." 

Y/N huffs and drops her bag on the cushiony couch. She doesn't even know Harry, so what gives him the right to talk about her like that?

"You're the one that told me not to talk to you on the first day," Y/N says pointedly, walking over to where he stands with the papers in hand, "I'm only doing what you asked of me. And don't call me a church mouse, you don't know anything about me."

She snatches the folder from him and halves the papers as he cackles from above. She can't help but notice that he towers over her, and it makes her swallow nervously. 

"You took that seriously? Jesus, you need to lighten up. Haven't you ever been hungover before?"

Y/N rolls her eyes as she sits down on the couch, folding her legs so her skirt doesn't ride up. She digs in her bag for her favorite red pen, fetching it from her pouch of writing utensils.

"Oh wait, you probably haven't. Because you're a church mouse." 

Y/N grits her teeth. She's never had someone care to provoke her this much and it's so annoying. Harry is so annoying!

"Can you please stop?" She says softly, removing the cap from her pen. "You don't have to be mean to me just because you don't like me." 

"How do you know whether I like you or not?" Harry scoffs as he sits down at Donnolly's desk, "I don't even know you." 

Y/N has to admit, that one hurts. So instead of responding, she swallows the lump forming in her throat and starts to read over Amanda Mai's outline. 

Harry doesn't bother her again that day. In fact, he doesn't even say goodbye when he's done. 

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

The following weeks go similarly. 

Donnolly stops them both after class with some ask of grading papers or outlines or otherwise, claiming that she thinks they work well together, which Y/N thinks is some cruel joke from the universe. Every time her and Harry walk the familiar route to her office in silence, she wonders what she did wrong in her life and what bullshit karma she's on the receiving end of. 

At a certain point, she wonders if someone has made a voodoo doll of her just to torture her, especially when she thinks Harry's finally skipping one of their grading sessions together, only to find his tongue down some sorority girl's throat. He nearly pushes the girl off of him when he notices Y/N's unintentionally interrupted their makeout session. She holds back a snicker when she hears the girl ask what his problem is as she unlocks the door.

"Gotta go," Harry tells the girl lowly, brushing past her to follow Y/N into the office. The girl garbles out a surprised "what?" just as Harry's shutting the door and plopping down at Donnolly's desk chair. 

It's quiet for a moment and Y/N debates saying anything, knowing that however she chooses to approach the situation — whether she ignore the confused, pissed off girl outside or comment on Harry's apparent distaste for her — he'll dole out some rude response. 

She rolls her lips into her mouth as she passes him his half of the papers, eventually settling on, "You probably shouldn't bring your girlfriend to your job. It's unprofessional, I think, and you both could've gotten in trouble."

Harry chuckles dryly and Y/N immediately regrets her decision. 

"Mind your business, little mouse." he mutters, but not before he utters something out under his breath. "She's not my girlfriend either."

Y/N nods slowly and lowers her eyes to the assignment in front of her. Today, they're working on editing the first drafts of the class' papers, which is guaranteed to take hours. She grimaces as she reads over Ty Baker's introduction, realizing that she has a hefty load of grading ahead of her. 

When she pulls out her pencil case from her bag, she hears Harry scoff from across the room. Mentally, she hopes it's due to the poor writing he's reading, but she knows she's wrong.

"Do you always wear shit like that?" he sneers. A hot flush instantly pulverizes her body, making her feel embarrassed and self-conscious within seconds. 

She doesn't reply, but of course — of course — Harry continues. 

"I mean, seriously, how old are you? 23? 24? And you come to campus in little skirts and cardigans and those stupid Doc Martens. Are you trying to look half your age?" 

Y/N swallows harshly, attempting to focus on the words on the page. If she ignores him, he'll stop eventually. Harry thrives on her attempting to fight back. 

"Are you even gonna defend yourself?" Harry spits, leaning back in Donnolly's chair, "Kind of pathetic, really—"

Y/N's head snaps up, tears blurring her vision. She sniffles and looks at him, the embarrassment now overwhelming when his face falls, realizing that he's made her cry. 

"Please stop," Y/N says in a watery voice, "You're just being mean."

Harry stares her down with low eyes, his raspberry lips slighted parted. She can feel his intimidating gaze even as she tries to redirect her attention back to Ty's draft, attempting to blink the salty tears away. She thinks she's made it through until a shudder racks through her body, a sad and involuntary quiver sounding from her chest.

The room is dead silent so she knows Harry hears it, and she wants nothing more than to dig a hole in the ground and bury herself alive. It would be better than having to face the fact that Harry made her cry over rude comments. 

She braces herself for another tongue lashing but instead, he stands from the desk, grabs his things, and rushes out of the room, leaving Y/N sitting on the couch by herself with tear-stained cheeks. 

She wonders if she's ever been this embarrassed before in her life.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Y/N spends the weekend wondering if she can ask Donnolly to transfer her to another section.

As she cuddles with her kitten, Ginger, on the couch, binge-watching episode upon episode of Love Island, she contemplates how to approach the situation. 

"Ging, what do you think I should do?" she murmurs to the orange cat perched on her thighs, "He's kind of awful and he's so mean to me, I don't understand why. I never see him act that way with anyone else. I don't think I did anything to him."

Ginger meows.

"Okay, meow again if you think I should try to move to Donnolly's other seminar."

The kitten jumps off her legs and traipses to her food bowl. Y/N lets out a sigh and falls to the side face-first into a mess of throw pillows.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

On Tuesday morning, Harry is tired.

He stayed up way too late last night and Jenna wouldn't stop blowing up his phone, wondering where he was over the weekend and asking if he wanted to come over and hookup.

(It was a Monday for Christ's sake, and she clearly couldn't take a hint — if he hadn't replied to her last five texts, why on earth would he want to go and get his dick wet now?

He realizes that he's done worse, so he takes it back.)

He typically spends his weekends ambling through parties and bars with his mates. Jenna is just one of his current and most reliable hookups, and he clearly made a mistake by tonguing her in public last week while he waited for Y/N to unlock Donnolly's office. It had been a spur of the moment rendezvous — Jenna happened to be walking through the English department just as Harry was, and she surged towards him for a kiss that quickly grew to a heated makeout once she stuck her tongue in his mouth. 

Harry was weak and rarely one to turn down a midday hookup, but the second he heard Y/N's clunky footsteps (those Doc Marten oxfords she wore were a dead giveaway), he tore apart from Jenna. 

Because of their public snog session, he assumes that she thinks their arrangement is something more. And she couldn't be more wrong, because ever since Thursday afternoon, all he's been able to think about is Y/N.

He doesn't even know why. She's quiet and shy and the complete opposite of any girl he's ever been attracted to. She rarely even fights back when he tries to rile her up, which he thought would be fun, but then he went and made her fucking cry last week and now he feels like the worst person to walk the planet.

In hindsight, Harry knows he was a fucking dick to her on Thursday. He doesn't know what it is about her, but it annoys him that she's so shy. She's smart and pretty and sweet and he doesn't know why she doesn't see that, instead opting for quietness and soft smiles and a constant hope that no one will notice her. 

Harry very much notices her, and it makes him grumpy.

So on Tuesday morning, he decides that he's going to attempt to make it up to her. He can't promise that he won't be rude, but when he makes his daily stop at his favorite coffee shop, he orders his own drink and hers, an iced vanilla oat milk latte. He hopes that she also didn't grab one before class but figures that at the very least, the effort would be appreciated. Maybe.

And Harry is actually kind of... nervous as he strolls into the lecture hall. He usually arrives a minute or two before class starts but today he's a whopping 10 minutes early, giving tight smiles to the students that wave hello to him. He's surprised that Y/N isn't there yet though he's never been this early before — maybe she likes to get there with five minutes to spare, even if she strikes him as an obsessively early type of person.

His eyebrows furrow when Donnolly enters the room and greets Harry with a grin, setting her things up at the podium. Clearing his throat, he tries to seem as normal as possible as he glances at the clock at the back of the hall. 

"Where's Y/N?" he asks, turning to look at Donnolly. 

The professor glances down at Harry, who's sitting at the TA table, his leg bouncing. He's clutching his own coffee cup and Y/N's is next to him, but now the plastic cup is beading with condensation and sweating onto the wooden desk.

"She's not feeling well today," Donnolly replies casually, her eyes peering over to the extra coffee on the table, "She said she'll try to make it to grading this afternoon, but I told her that wouldn't be necessary if she needs time to rest."

Harry coughs awkwardly and nods, ignoring the pang of guilt zip through his heart.

Donnolly purses her lips before clearing her throat and typing something on her laptop. "You have her number, right? I haven't had a chance to check on her but I want to make sure she's doing alright. Would you mind?" 

"I don't have her number, no." 

She hums and nods, "I just emailed it to you." 

Harry goes to reply, but Donnolly is already clapping her hands to announce the start of class.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Harry can't stop staring at Y/N's phone number.

At this point, he knows he's being a total and utter weirdo. Donnolly gave it to him to check on her, but instead of texting her, he opens her email and stares at the 10 digits until they blur together. He types it in his phone twice but can't decide on what to say. He knows it doesn't have to be a big deal — he's never been this stressed over having a girl's number before! And besides the fact, this isn't even that kind of deal, it's Y/N. 

Silly, stupid Y/N, who he can't stop thinking about, who he feels bad for being mean to, who he wishes came to class today so he could give her her dumb iced latte but instead had to throw out the melted, watered down beverage.

He doesn't text her, but he does the next logical step of looking her up on social media. Of course, her Instagram profile is on private and she hasn't posted on Twitter in five years. He tries to find any public trace of her online only to come up empty, so he groans and leans back against his pillows, pulls up the empty text thread and pastes her number in. 

It takes him four rewrites and 10 minutes of agony to finally land on: Hey. Donnolly asked me to see how you're doing.

Harry wants to throw his phone across the room but he resists, instead clutching it tightly in his palm. It buzzes a moment later and he nearly yelps to see her number on his screen. 

who is this?

"Oh my god," he grunts, slapping a hand over his forehead, "I didn't even say it was me!"

Grumbling, he quickly types back. It's Harry. She said you weren't feeling well.

He keeps the text thread up and watches as the speech bubble appears, then fades away. It happens three times before she replies. 

yea I have a migraine. im fine thanks

Harry swallows. His mouth dries as he tries to figure out how he can continue the conversation but she's really not giving him anything to go off of. He can't say he blames her, though.

Do you need anything?

Again, the three dots pop up on his screen and disappear twice more. 

no thank you

This time, he replies quickly: Do you think you'll be able to attend class on Thursday? If not, I can bring you the papers you have left to grade so you don't fall too behind.

He figures that's a decent response — maybe one that warrants more than three words, and he even wonders if it portrays his attempt to patch things up. 

if i need anything im capable of doing it myself. 

Harry sighs and locks his phone. He definitely deserves this.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

On Thursday, Y/N doesn't show up to class again. 

And at this point, Harry is ready to call her up or text her, or even email her to demand some answers. He's not sure what answers he's looking for — she said she had a migraine on Tuesday, but how could she still be dealing with it two days later? — but he's annoyed that she's not here. 

When class is over, Donnolly wordlessly hands her keys to him. He flashes her a tight small, dumps the rest of his coffee, and walks the short distance to her office, stewing in his anger. Had he really been that mean? He didn't think so; he knew he was a dick and yeah, he still regrets making her cry, but was it worth missing two days of class? She'll be so behind in grading, what's the point in even being a teaching assistant if she's just going to—

Harry's face wrinkles in confusion when he approaches the small office space, noticing that the lamp is already on, radiating a warm glow from the corner. The door is unlocked, too, which Donnolly never does. 

"Go fuckin' figure," he mutters to himself, prepared to have to deal with some sort of English department break-in, when he pushes the door open to find Y/N inside, sprawled out across the blue velvet sofa with her pink cardigan bunched up over her eyes.

He's immediately perplexed, and he wouldn't know it's Y/N if not for those clunky Doc Martens on her feet. Instead of her usual Levi jeans or rotation of mini skirts, she's wearing leggings and a baggy t-shirt over her form, her hair tied up and flopped over her head.

He can't tell if she's awake or not, so he very quietly shuts the door behind him. Her lips part and she takes a deep breath, her hand flying up to her temples with a wince.

"Y/N?" Harry whispers, dropping Donnolly's keys on her desk. 

"Leave me alone," she croaks, "Everything hurts, just shut up. Please."

Harry smiles gently as she tacks on a please at the end of her request. Something about her delicate state is very sweet, but it's quickly replaced with concern as he kneels down next to the couch. 

"Are you okay?" he asks quietly, fingers itching to move the cardigan covering her face.

"No."

"What's the matter?"

"Migraine."

"Why are you on campus, then?"

"Stop asking me questions." 

He does, allowing her to ruminate in the silence as he decides what he should do. It's but a minute or two more before she slowly moves the cardigan down her face, revealing tired, squinty eyes that stare up at Harry.

"I've missed two days of classes and I didn't want to miss anymore. I came to campus this morning and I couldn't even make it through my first one. Donnolly said I could rest in here."

"All from a migraine?" Harry presses, a bemused expression on his face.

"Yes. I get them from stress."

It's the most that she's spoken to him in days and he chalks it up to her disoriented nature. Her hair is a mess and her eyes are bleary, fatigue and pain apparent in her every move. 

"Do you want to go home?" he asks. He doesn't know much about migraines, but his sister gets them sometimes and she always complains about his voice being too loud. He tries to keep his questions at minimal volume, teetering just above a whisper.

"Yeah, but I don't have a car and it's too bright outside to walk." 

"I can drive you," Harry murmurs without a second thought, "My car is in the building lot." 

"Isn't that a faculty lot?"

He rolls his eyes, "Are you really gonna harp on that right now?"

Y/N doesn't reply to this, instead trying her best to sit up, only to be met with a painful recoil. Harry jumps to keep her stable, his hands stretching out to steady her arms and keep her upright. 

"Sorry," he quickly mutters, "Don't want you to pass out on me."

She nods, and that's how Harry knows she must be really sick. He scrambles up and digs his car keys out of his pocket, then grabs his sunglasses dangling from his tee-shirt. 

"Here, you can wear these." 

Y/N doesn't reply and his shoulders droop in concern, carefully reaching forward to place them over her eyes. 

"Don't tell me if I look dumb." she mumbles, making him laugh.

"You don't. You look quite sweet, actually." 

He ignores the compliment that seems to fall from his lips effortlessly, instead choosing to focus on getting her home safely. Harry grabs her backpack and swings it over his shoulder, "Do you need help getting up?"

With squinted eyes, Y/N looks up at him, nodding once. She looks so sad and it kills him, mumbling out an "alright" as he reaches his hands out to help her stand. Once she's on her feet, she's capable of moving on her own, clutching her soft cardigan in arms. He doesn't want to touch her any more without her permission, especially if she hates him as much as she acts. He may be a dick, but he'd never intentionally try to make her feel uncomfortable when she's in such a vulnerable state.

Together, they walk out of the building and to the parking lot, where Harry's navy sedan is parked. He wants to make a joke about her pointing out that yes, technically he left his car in the faculty lot, but she just looks so exhausted that he doesn't have it in him. Gently, he guides her to the passenger's side and unlocks the car, making sure that she gets in safely. When she does, he rushes around the vehicle, placing her bag in the backseat and starting the car. 

"Where do you live, Y/N?" Harry asks quietly. She looks over at him in his black Ray Bans and a small smile quirks at his lips. He knows she would never be caught dead in this style of sunglass, but for the time being, he wants to take a picture on his phone so he never forgets the way she looks.

"On Maple." she grunts out as she tucks her arms into her cardigan. It's the end of summer, slowly crawling towards fall, but the daily temperature is still quite warm. He frowns and lowers the air.

"Do you have a roommate that can take care of you?" 

"I live alone."

His frown deepens at this as he pulls out of the parking lot and down the road. Yes, they're in grad school, both fully capable adults, but she has to get lonely living by herself, didn't she? He's never seen her out at bars or parties, and if stress migraines are a persistent thing in her life, how does she typically get through them alone?

Harry lives a few streets over from Maple so he knows how to get there. She makes some grumbly noise to let him know that he's reached their destination, so he parks outside and turns the car off. 

"I'll walk you in, if that's alright," Harry says. She pauses as she undoes her seatbelt, taking a moment to glance at him through the dark sunglasses. 

"Okay. But only because I need you to carry my bag in and make sure I don't puke on the way to my bed."

"Sure," he murmurs, making quick work to follow her inside. He realizes he must look ridiculous, dressed in all black with her pastel pink bag looped over his shoulder.

Y/N's house is very... Y/N. He's not sure what he expected since he's never really wondered about her living conditions, but the one-bedroom apartment is small and cozy, filled with art and plants and candles. Her favorite colors — or what Harry assumes to be her favorites — are constant threads throughout the home, accents of light pink and forest green dancing through her kitchen on mugs and in her living room on throw blankets and pillows. She has a large vase of sunflowers on her coffee table and a sting forms somewhere in his body, wondering if someone — a romantic someone — gave them to her.

Harry notices a small cat toddle towards her, instantly pawing at her shoes as she kicks them off. 

"Not now, Ging," Y/N mumbles, "Love you bunches, but 'm still sick."

"Ging?" Harry asks as he gently places her bag on the velvet green armchair in her living room. He picks the tiny kitten up and strokes the white patch on its head.

"Short for Ginger," she replies, turning to look at him. Her eyebrows raise behind the sunglasses when she sees that Ginger is already in Harry's arms, purring away at his pets. If she wasn't in so much pain, she would roll her eyes at the little traitor. "Um... I'm just gonna go upstairs and change and go to bed."

Harry nods, "Do you need anything?"

If she's being honest, Y/N hates going through migraines alone. She can't do anything by herself and she feels far more isolated and lonely than usual. In college, her roommate, Kelsey, was helpful and understanding, but Kelsey moved across the country after graduation. Besides her parents, Y/N doesn't have anyone else to help her in times of need like this.

"Yeah," she finally sighs, much to both her and Harry's surprise, "Can you... just stick around for a little? It's fine if you have things to do, but migraines give me a lot of anxiety and I... it helps to have someone here. Also, Ginger is lonely."

"Well, if Ginger needs company, then I'm more than happy to stay."

It's the first time he's ever made Y/N smile.

Read part two here :) | Read part three here :)

[folklorefairyy]

of glasses and grins - s.h

summary - in which steve really needs glasses but has a lifetime of insecurities that has him hiding them. lucky for him, his girlfriend knows just how to make him smile.

warnings - mentions of violence (punches), mentions of bullying (taunts/nicknames from other kids), insecurities, fem!reader, kissing and general relationship touching (nothing sexual), reader sits on steve’s lap

word count - 1.4k

authors note - this is inspired by a request from the lovely vic <3 which you can find here!

i know there’s a lot of headcanons about steve needing glasses due to his head injuries and that inspired his need to wear them more here! i remember seeing this months and months ago so if anyone knows any specific people that was big on that, i’d love to give credit!!

Steve Harrington had taken one too many blows to the head. On the receiving end of fists far too often it’s safe to say his body had felt their toll. His eyesight wasn't the best to begin with, having reading glasses in middle school. After receiving enough ‘geek’ or ‘four-eyes’ jokes he eventually put them to rest in the back of the drawer of his bedside table.

As ‘King Steve’ he ignored his need to squint when chatting in the back of class, or the migraine’s he’d endure, because he’d finally built an image he didn't want to tarnish. His reputation was fragile, and he'd much rather take a physical blow than one to his ego. Until he started getting hit, a lot, and suddenly the incessant migraines became more than a dull ache and the blurinnes was more than a smudge.

You had started dating Steve after highschool, not aware of past comments or cohorts, nor the journey that has led to your boyfriend constantly rubbing his eyes and having a few close calls with rogue tree branches when driving.

It was one movie night, snuggled on the sofa with your legs scrunched onto his lap, his strong arm pressing into your back and thumb smoothing over the exposed skin of your shoulder, that you finally voiced your concerns.

For the past half hour Steve had been watching the movie through one half-closed eye, trying desperately to get it to focus. Everytime you peered up at his face he simply looked down at you and winked, or stuck his tongue out, or did practically any adorably dorky facial expression you could name in order to distract you.

Raising your hand to thumb at his cheek, you whisper a ‘Baby,’ receiving a hum from him as he turns his attention to you. Steve thinks he could hear just about every pet name fall from your lips and never get enough of it; his heart feeling warm at the thought of being your anything.

‘Are your eyes bugging you?’ you prod softly. He shuts them with a sigh, head leaning into your palm which has spread across his cheek. He half-heartedly shakes his head no, more of a tilt than anything. Prompting again you plead, ‘Stevie, please don’t lie to me.’ Your voice is filled with such sweetness he feels guilty for all of his hiding, wondering how he could ever deny the honey in your voice.

‘A little,’ he finally confesses, voice more a whisper of breath than an actual sound. He feels a little silly, keeping his eyes shut to avoid his truth - that his eyes have been bugging him long before you got together. ‘They always hurt to be honest, usually just ignore it.’

His confession tugs at your heart, your sweet boy hiding a pain you can’t magically fix with the kisses and soft words you’d usually resort to.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ you ask feeling slightly wounded, like you’ve failed as a girlfriend for not knowing sooner. You move your thumb back and forth on his cheek, reassuring him you weren’t mad but concerned.

He peers up at you through heavy eyes, lips pulled between teeth in an anxious tell. ‘I knew you’d make me wear my glasses if I told you about them.’

You tut softly and lean to kiss between his brows, ‘Oh honey, what’s wrong with your glasses?’ The revelation shocked you momentarily, the prospect of your boyfriend in glasses a welcome image but an unexpected one.

He looks away from you again, old taunts swimming in his head. ‘I’d look stupid,’ he mutters. ‘You’d find me ugly or weird and wouldn’t want me anymore.’

You could sob at the confession, firstly for the inaccuracy but secondly because you can’t believe he’s been harbouring such insecurities. Moving to grasp his face in both hands you press a kiss to his lips this time, so sweet love itself bloomed between them. ‘Honey, if you need them to see you need them.’ Another meeting of lips to reassure him. ‘Plus I think you’d look handsome in just about any get-up.’ you whispered against his lips, brushing them with a soft smile.

The comment almost pulls Steve’s mouth into a smile of his own, but his past tugs them back down. ‘That’s real sweet baby, but no one else thought so and I wouldn't blame you either.’

At this point your desperation to have Steve rid himself of such thoughts takes over and you don’t think before you’re imbing onto his lap and squishing him to the sofa, face to face, chest to chest, trying very hard to make your point, as though the physical contact would make your opinion replace the one in his brain.

Eyes staring into his, but with an incredible softness that he always elicits, you try your best to convince him otherwise. ‘Firstly, Steve Harrington, glasses are a completely normal thing to have and so many people wear them. Whoever taught you otherwise can go suck it, and I’m sorry they made you uncomfortable wearing them.’

Your sudden brashness and the random full naming of him had his heart feeling a little lighter. You, however, were not done. ‘And secondly, my boyfriend is beautiful, and I know damn straight he is going to look so pretty in his glasses. If the mental images I’m seeing are anywhere near the real deal then I’m in trouble.’ A kiss to the freckles on his nose, your silent sign of ‘I love you.’ ‘I’m gonna have to fight off a lot of people when they get a look at you, trust me.’

At this he lets out a low chuckle, lips finally pulling into that grin you so love, the urge to kiss it only slightly overpowered by your pride in removing some of his sadness.

He leans up slowly and kisses your nose back, the smile still painting his lips as he pulls away. ‘Wow, sweetheart, you really do love me huh? Thinking I’d be wooing everyone and wanting to fight for me?’

Hands smoothing his hair back, you move nose to nose, their tips kissing, and whisper upon his growing grin, ‘Oh handsome, I’d go to war for you.’

At your confession, he pulls your body down to lay on the sofa, arms wrapping around your waist, and presses his weight into you, peppering kisses into your hair and your cheeks, until he finally reaches your lips. You’re both giggling, giddy with love and a connection between you that can't be described but only felt, for it’s uniquely yours.

He looks like an angel above you, hair curtaining his face, the halo of light from the lamp illuminating him in a honeyed glow. Hand returning to his cheek, it’s favourite spot to be, you press another kiss to his lips. ‘Can you please go get your glasses? I want to work out how many people I’ve got to plan on fighting.’

He presses another kiss back, ‘Oh my tough girl, how could I ever leave you unprepared.’ Steve pulls himself off you, not without reluctance and another peck, before running upstairs to venture in the spot of his drawer he always thought he’d leave untouched, trying to wish the taunts away but never quite succeeding.

As he crept back down the stairs that anxiety of being judged bloomed in his chest and he faltered on the last step. But then he spots the back of your head, perched on the sofa so patiently, knee bobbing up and down as your enthusiasm seeped through, and he knows, that you are the one person who could see past the glasses, who would love him regardless, and so he took the final step.

The creaking of the staircase grabs your attention as your eager head whips round so fast Steve swears you’ve given yourself whiplash. The biggest smile blooming on your face at the sight of Steve, a nervous smile on his own, decorated so beautifully with a pair of wide-lensed, silver glasses.

You rush from your seat, too gleeful to wait for him to come to you. Hands to face once again, cocooning it in that warm cage he so loved, you dote a hundred kisses to his cheeks, give or take, before leaning back to whisper softly, ‘Oh my beautiful boy, I am going to have to work on my punches.’

Steve let out a loud laugh, fresh with adoration, and pressed what was not to be the last kiss that evening to your lips. You were just so precious, true sweetness in your intentions. He may have thought he’d never wear them again, but he now thinks he won’t ever take them off, just to see that spark in your eyes reflected in the glass of his once hated frames.