#i just found so many stim gifs that i thought fit | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gatorbites-imagines · 1 year

Note

Hello~!

So may I request a poly ghost face (from 1996) where they have an autistic trans!reader. Ik a lot (I'm projecting) the reader stims vocally by mimicking what they say, and they have a special interest (am like bugs, gore, sharks, dinosaurs, something around those lines yk? I feel like gore would fit) the reader rambles and rants Abt their special interest a lot! Just those kinds of things. I feel like you'd be able to capture this perfectly, thank you! Have a wonderful time zone :)

Poly Ghostface x autistic trans male reader

Headcanons

I always headcanon Stu as having something like ADHD, or just more hyperactive autism.

Been a while since I wrote about these two, huh? I’ve kinda missed em, ngl. Hope it’s alright I took some liberties with the hyperfixations :)

I can imagine that maybe you were friends with Stu when you were kids, because you were both “weird” in other people’s opinion. Stu because he was too hyperactive and could never sit still, and you because of your weird interests and how you were quite antisocial at times.

Time would pass, you guys would grow older. Stu would become someone popular, as his erratic and hyper personality becomes something others admire because he’s fun, whilst you stay being the weirdo with too much interest in medical texts, insects, and decomposition.

Neither of you meant to do it, but you would grow apart. Stu would get his new friends, specifically Billy, and you would stay by yourself burying yourself in your special interests. Its not strange to find you flipping through medical books or books about the horrors of war and medical malpractice. The more pictures the better.

When its not medical texts and war pictures with as much gorey detail as possible in the text and pictures, you can be found reading about death and the work of being a mortician, the way a body decays, and all that.

And when its neither of those things, you can be found looks at bugs, lifting rocks or moving trash to see what critters you can find. You have a sketchbook you like to draw in, three ones at that, one for each hyperfixation since you don’t wanna mix the information in them.

Its in the many niche medical books you learn about being transgender, and suddenly how uncomfortable you are in your own body makes sense. You don’t need any friends, or your families support to transition, that’s what you tell yourself at least.

You haven’t really had any real friends since you split form Stu when you were kids, and your creepy interests chase off anyone who might attempt to befriend you.

So, when you show up one day to school and openly tell people you are now a boy, no one really questions it, because why would they? You’re already weird, and compared to all your other quirks, being a boy is probably the most normal thing about you.

Through all these years you haven’t experienced as much bullying as you probably would have anywhere else, all thanks to Billy and Stu.

Stu because he still sees you as his friend in some way, and Billy because he’s fascinated by you. One day after you had come out, he walked behind you and saw you drawing detailed diagrams of top surgery in grotesque detail, and Billy has been hooked since.

At some point you and Billy would end up talking, one way or another. Maybe it was at the video store around Halloween one night, maybe the year Sidney’s mom died, and Billy would ask your opinion on the horror movie selection.

Youd grimace and say they sucked since the gore was so unrealistic, which Billy, the freak, would definitely ask into why you thought so. This would lead to you infodumping to him for a long time, going through multiple movies and explaining how its unrealistic and what would have made it better.

As infodumping goes, you don’t even realize how long you’ve been standing there talking to one of the hottest guy at your school about fictional gore, until Randy has to tell you guys that the store is closing soon.

You end up getting real embarrassed about wasting his time like that, which Billy is quick to tell you that nothing was wasted because he loved talking about it with you and hearing what you had to say. He would love to talk again some time.

You don’t really believe him, until he searches you out the next day in your shared free period when you are sitting outside drawing bugs and beetles, dragging Stu with him of all people. You haven’t actually interacted with Stu in a while, so you cringe and get jitters when he hugs you and gets into your personal space.

Its Billy who has to remind him of personal space, and before you know it, they’ve asked in about your special interests, and then they just sit back as you infodump and show them the pictures and drawings you have in all three of your sketchbooks, making the two Woodsboro killers fall for you harder and harder.

Time would pass and you three would start spending a lot of time together, Billy and Stu always hanging around you to listen to what you have to say, never growing tired no matter how much you infodump.

Stu would be the first to confess his feelings, as he feels fast and he feels strong, so one day when you two are laying on his bed and you’re talking about the difference between two beetles who look almost the exact same, whilst also talking about lungs and how they’re built, Stu just leans over and kisses you.

You would be so confused, until Stu tells you that he really likes you, he would even spill the beans that Billy feels the same way too. As if summoned, Billy would show up and Stu would be all like “right Billy? You like him too, right?” and Billy would facepalm cuz he planned on confessing in a much better way.

But hed agree and say he fell pretty damn hard for you, but neither rushes you in your decision as they know it’s a big step. I can imagine Stu also rambling about how hes always liked you since you were kids, even before you transitioned, and how he actually started liking you even more afterwards because you looked so much more comfortable with yourself and who you were.

At some point you would come to the conclusion that you felt the same way, and boom, now you got two boyfriends who like you for who you are, and would stab a bitch if they tried to disrespect you in any way, shape, or form.

When the ghostface killings happen, you wouldn’t be at the party since they are super overstimulating, but you would go to the hospital to check on Billy and Stu since they are the only “survivors”.

I thought it would be funny if you developed a special interest in the ghostface killers and started a fourth sketchbook filled with your notes and theories, but you would keep it hidden form Billy and Stu because you fear it would trigger their trauma, since you don’t know they are the killers.

The fourth sketchbook would also have rants you can’t put anywhere else, like how certain people have hatecrimed you because of your gender, or because you are “weird”, and how some dark sick part of your brain wants the ghostface killers to kill them.

At some point your boyfriends would find the sketchbook and go through it together, whistling as they see the detailed analysis made for each kill, and how you are so close to figuring it out. But when they read all the stuff you’ve written you never told them, it angers them that people have been hurting you without them knowing.

You wouldn’t have told them since you didn’t want to worry them, and it wasn’t their fight in your opinion. Billy and Stu decide that they have to pull out the masks once more, seems they have a couple of horrible people to get rid of for mistreating you.

Imagine your surprise when one night you walk into your room stimming with both your hands and repeating stuff that Billy and Stu said earlier that day, only to find not one, but two people wearing ghostface gear in your room.

It takes you a little too long to even spot them as you were scribbling in your death sketchbook, having gotten a sudden spark of inspiration on the way home from your apprenticeship as the local funeral home.

You almost get to scream before they pounce, never actually hurting you but clamping a hand over your mouth, their gloves wet with what you can smell is blood. After they make you promise to stay quiet, they unmask and reveal who they are.

You buffer like an old computer for a little too long, before smacking the shit out of both of them, wacking them in the chest for not telling you. Your opinion on death and murder are probably really twisted, and the people they’ve killed have either hurt you or you had no relationship with them.

It does light up every light in your hyperfixations though, and you might demand them to explain what killing someone is like, or what a freshly killed body looks like for your sketchbooks.

Billy would grin and try to kiss you, because how can you be so perfect? But you’d wave him off with a grimace and demand Stu explain once again what it was like stabbing someone so you can get it all down in your book.

I don’t know if youd join them as a third Ghostface, but they might take you along every now and then, letting you roam the place after they’ve done their thing if the chance is there. I could imagine them taking pictures of things for you too.

I’m imagining them both dressed up as ghostface, except no mask, both kissing at your cheeks and neck and being all lovey dovey and almost purring, whilst you are sketching down the different pictures and notes about them.

They love you so much, its insane. You’re gonna have them hanging on you for the rest of your life, sorry man, I don’t make the rules. Even if you move to another city and start studying to be a professor or like, investigator for the FBI, they would go with you. It would even help them in their Ghostface work as you are an expert in them not getting caught.

844 notes · View notes

youwerenevermeanttofeelalone · 4 years

Photo

Somebody Sweet to Talk To ❁︎ 𝐒𝐈𝐗

Pairing: Harry Osborn x Plus Size Reader

Word Count: 4k

Gif credit

Summary & Warnings || Series Masterlist

𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧

𝐈'𝐦 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬

𝐈'𝐯𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐈 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝

𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬

❁︎ ・・・・・❁︎ ・・・・・ ❁︎ ・・・・・❁︎

Harry groaned while trying to get up from the bed. He didn’t have any broken ribs, but everything hurt to the point where painkillers didn’t even grant him sleep. It wasn’t the worst beating he had received, it wouldn’t even enter the top 10, but he was only human so it was normal for it to hurt like a bitch.

’The silver lining is he won’t react like this on Saturday,’ Harry thought bitterly as he looked at himself in the mirror to start the oh so familiar damage recount. The busted lip was the only thing he wouldn’t be able to hide — Peter would believe him if he said he had fallen on the front steps of his house, but you wouldn’t. You were more observant, and a medic in training.

On Saturday he changed his outfit more times he would ever be comfortable by admitting. Harry needed to impress people that night, two people that preferred his best friend over him. Dressing like Peter usually did wasn’t an option, his male best friend sucked at color coordination and he wore hoodies most of the time.

His father would wear dark grey, that was why Harry didn’t even consider a suit in that color. He settled on all blue. He looked fine, or at least he thought he did. Checking the time, he smoothed imaginary wrinkles on the jacket and left the house.

You were freaking out, pacing from left to right in front of your bed. Pepper followed the movements with her eyes, trying not to laugh. You were too mortified for something as simple as dinner, all thanks to Peter. Your best friend entered your bedroom that morning to warn you of how difficult Norman Osborn was to please and extended the reminder of not being a good idea to date Harry.

Of course dating Harry wasn’t a good idea. Dating wasn’t a good idea, actually — Harry was more than fine. And boy was he f i n e. Shaking your head and reminding yourself that thirsting over your fake boyfriend wasn’t a good idea either you halted your pacing to look at Pepper.

Pepper tilted her head, waiting for the question filling your semblance. The inquiry never came, it couldn’t; how could it when it embarrassed you tremendously?

You needed to impress Norman. For Harry’s sake? Debatable. You were prideful, and impressing a man as difficult as he would stroke your ego. Desperate for some kind of positive reaction to your existence, you would do anything to achieve it. Asking Pepper how to do it would mean getting teased, Tony would tell you to be yourself even if that was the entire problem, and Bucky would tease you while repeating Tony’s comment. Could Gwen have helped? You supposed the blonde would be open to at least try with how nice she was, but you didn’t really know her.

Your dad was still visiting, and you were tempted to ask him until you remembered he didn’t care for that. Fuck, your only option was Harry himself. Not for the first time that week, you found yourself in need of his comfort and reassurance — the most dangerous thing you had ever felt. You should’ve stopped it at that moment, tell him you couldn’t do it anymore.

Three Saturdays now you had been through that and the three times your conclusion had been the same. A stupid pattern that needed to be broken yet you didn’t dare to even touch.

“Do I look presentable?” you found yourself asking to not make Pepper think the question would be deeper.

Pepper smiled brightly. “You look great.”

The doorbell resonated throughout the compound. Harry was five minutes earlier from the time he said he would pick you up, as you expected. ’You can get through this,’ you told yourself inwardly as Pepper for some reason escorted you into the elevator, ’it’s just dinner with a strict rich man and his hot son who you’re supposedly dating.’

Oh god, you wouldn’t make it past the appetizers. Harry looked finer than ever, with his busted lip and all, he definitely knew blue was his color and took advantage of it. His eyes taking in your appearance made you nervous, so nervous you almost asked if you should change your outfit or hairdo.

“You look beautiful.” The way he said it, through a breath and looking into your eyes... he was getting good at acting.

Okay, the appetizers had been a very long term goal. You were gone, completely gone. You would’ve yelled at him at that moment to stop tormenting you so much if you hadn’t swallowed an anxiolytic earlier.

“You look handsome,” you tried to smile without giggling. It was weird, the sound that left your throat, but he didn’t tease you. No one around you did, they only exchanged looks.

Harry didn’t continue staring like guys did in the movies, he asked if you were ready to go and when you said yes, he rushed to open the door for you.

Buckling up, you considered faking feeling unwell. As he slipped into the car and his cologne mixed with his aftershave swirled around the air, you threw the idea out of the window and allowed yourself to look at him some more before tearing your eyes away from the side of his face.

He didn’t drag the drive despite his nervousness. The two of you would be punctually there, looking dapper, and inwardly begging for things to go smoothly enough.

His gulp as he opened the front door didn’t go unnoticed by you. Squeezing his hand, you encouraged him to get inside. Both of you did so in politely slow strides, greeted by a maid who took your coat and guided you to the living room.

Norman Osborn stood up, watching you like a hawk. Harry’s eyes were on the right hand that had hit him multiple times as it enveloped the one that had only given him security and shook it; the gesture was curt and firm but not strong enough to bruise. His father’s expression was neutral, eyes critically taking both your appearances in — he seemed pleased with your attires, a tight-lipped smile confirmed it.

Conversation flowed easily due to the nature of meeting new people as dinner took place.

“I must ask, my dear,” Norman said, looking at you. “Why choose someone like my son when you’re surrounded by people like you?”

Feeling the young man tense beside you, you patted the back of his hand under the table. “Well, sir: your son is smart, charming, and interesting. Geniuses aren’t always too approachable and when they are there’s not much to be said or done around or with them, if I may be honest. Harry might not be a genius, but he’s brilliant and knowledgeable on many things which I find necessary in an acquaintance.”

Both men were clearly not expecting such an answer. Norman stared at you to look for signs of a lie and when he found none, he hummed. Harry was trying to calm down, his breathing was getting too shaky to be healthy — the young man didn’t think you had been honest, but oh how he desperately wanted you to have been. The fact that you were defending him from his father was worth more than you would ever know.

Like Harry had expected, Norman treated you with respect and empathy. His father was impressed by you. He couldn’t blame him, it seemed like finally, they could agree on something and the young man enjoyed knowing the reason of their agreement was a pair of expressive eyes and such a kind heart.

A relieved sigh slid past his lips as soon as he got into the car. He hadn’t intended for you to realize, why would he? Grateful for your lack of inquiries, he waited for you to buckle up before pulling onto the street and away from his house.

Now that you had seemingly impressed Norman freaking Osborn you knew getting out of the fake relationship thing would be harder. You understood now, after having heard the changes in the older man’s tone when directed toward his son, why Harry had been so tense since you parked in front of his gigantic house. You also understood why Peter had warned you, but you couldn’t help but wonder if your fake boyfriend had always been treated so coldly.

“Wait,” he breathed as you made a motion to open the door to get into The Compound. His hand found yours, fingers fitting between yours like they had been made to do just that.

You looked up. “Do you need anything?”

Leaning in, he nodded. You nodded back in agreement, a little too effusively for the occasion, taking the advantage your high heels were giving you to be the one pressing your lips to his. The hand he had flush to his side crawled up your arm to slide and hold your head as it was placed on your nape while your free one rested on his chest lightly.

The sweet kiss would’ve been that even if his tongue didn’t taste of the dessert you had just eaten. There was no rush, no public around you to convince, not even an interruption this time. The warmth of his hand penetrated your entire being, there wasn’t a single part of yours that wasn’t content under his touch and kiss — even your brain that most of the time entered in an alert state was calm, and you wondered, as both yours and his eyes fluttered open and mouths separated in slow motion, if that was how being happy felt like.

The living room was full— as full as it could be when half the team was out on a mission at least— snacks filled the entire table between the two main couches. Peter had expected to see a face marked by tears, not a shy wave. Tony asked how had it gone and you said fine in such a natural tone that Peter saw his entire life pass in front of his eyes.

Throughout the night Harry and you exchanged text messages until you told him to get some sleep. It was new to you, as much as you always stayed up until 3 or 4 am, you had never done it while texting someone. Talking with him was easy, like spotting an infection; and stoping was as hard as diagnosing hepatitis without blood tests.

The intellectual stimulation you got from him was different than the one any of your teammates gave you, different than how you felt while solving puzzles or working in the laboratory. Not more real, just more meaningful because you didn’t expect that from him — you thought it would be unbearable to fake being Harry Osborn’s girlfriend, that he would be boring and snobbish, hollow and arrogant; boy, had you been wrong.

❁︎ ・・・・・❁︎ ・・・・・ ❁︎ ・・・・・❁︎

He watched you take the path toward the laboratory one afternoon and sighed before walking toward his friends. Ignoring their glances, he took his tablet out and continued digitally designing his new apartment. After his father met his —unknowingly to Norman fake— girlfriend, he urged Harry to get an apartment so he could have more privacy with you. A surprisingly nice thought that would save him from many stressful situations, and an excuse to spend more time with you while decorating it. He had already told you, he did so on Monday as soon as he saw you — when he asked you to help him you were doubtful at first which made his heart drop.

“Shouldn’t your best friend help you with that?” you had asked, not lifting your eyes from your notes.

He had scoffed, “have you seen Peter’s room? No, thank you.” His comment had made you chuckle and he saw you nod in agreement.

It had been his idea to design it digitally first and only fix details once physically putting everything in place. He would’ve liked you to be beside him while doing it, but you had a job to put attention to so the agreement was that you would give your input and help in your free time.

Interior designing was more difficult than one would think. The solution of calling an expert to keep himself from second-guessing every single one of his choices was too tempting but he wouldn’t give in, not when you would stand behind him, forearms on the edge of the back of the couch as you stared at the screen from on top of his shoulder. Your breath would tickle his neck lightly, sending chills down his spine.

“That couch has too many cushions,” you told him lowly to not disturb anyone around you.

He craned his neck to look at you, “it looks comfortable.”

“Ten cushions for a couch are excessive, Harry.”

“You have eight pillows on your bed.”

“Bed, not sofa.”

“You’re telling me I should have eight pillows on my bed for when you stay over instead of on the couch? Because if you are, I can do both.”

“When did I—,“ you stuttered, fighting the heat daring to crawl up your neck at his words. “Just don’t even dare complaining when you can’t sit down comfortably on that thing.”

Harry got impatient, however, and halfway through the designing project decided to hire a designer. You found it hilarious and said you knew he would do that as you walked toward The Compound, lips pursed to keep your laugh at bay.

So what if he had only endured three days designing an apartment before giving up? It was hard! And he didn’t want to feel uncomfortable at his own place! When he defended himself by saying that, you put a hand on his shoulder and told him in a soft sigh that you found the time he lost funny and not his desire of feeling at home.

Harry didn’t know what home was or how it felt, but he had his suspicions that it was more than a place.

❁︎ ・・・・・❁︎ ・・・・・ ❁︎ ・・・・・❁︎

It was a Sunday evening, 3:00-ish pm, your throat was sore from the concert you and Harry had attended the night before. The concert was the reason for the congressional meeting taking place in your room, you needed help and you needed it urgently.

When Harry had picked you up for the concert you had been fine, comfortable like you felt around him now even if mere four weeks had passed from the day you started speaking and faking the relationship, but as the event progressed and you realized how much he avoided staring at you, you came to the conclusion that your feelings were more one-sided than you had assumed. So you needed to know what a crush really was in order to find how to get rid of it.

Peter would be useless at it, and your mentors couldn’t know you were still in distress over liking Harry. Gwen was an expert on relationships, she was good with people and everyone always asked her for advice — she was nice enough to listen.

Your online investigation had been encouraging, a crush lasted four months according to it, you were a week away from finishing the first one which meant the torture wouldn’t last more than the wait for your most anticipated movie of the year.

Gwen giggled at your question, prompting you to frown. “A crush is when you like someone you don’t know,” she eventually explained as her giggles subsided. “You find them attractive, and become a little obsessive over them.”

“Scientifically speaking,” you stated your case, “a crush lasts around four months. It sounds quite excruciating if you ask me, but what I really want to know is how do people get rid of them.”

“You have a crush on someone?”

“No, no,” you shook your head. “It’s for scientific purposes.”

“According to your scientific studies,” Gwen conceded, knowing where the conversation was going, “what is a crush? Because I think my definition is wrong then.”

“Well,” you stood up from the couch, “you find someone attractive, and charming even though they are not naturally, and want to be around them, and feel a deep need of defending them, and wish you could give them a little bit of what they unknowingly and selflessly give you in return... you miss them when they’re not around, and find yourself entertaining the ridiculously childish idea that you are finally safe while experiencing utter fear of being rejected by them because it would mean losing them,” your voice turned softer as the list progressed, eyes twinkling. You cleared your throat to ease the lump forming there and winced at the burning sensation its irritated state brought. “Or at least that’s what I read.”

Gwen swallowed loudly to give her verdict. “You’re in love with Harry.”

“Who’s talking about Harry?” You blurted a screech with eyes open wide.

Gwen stood up from your bed, walking toward you and taking both your hands. “There’s nothing wrong with it, it might be too soon for some people, but it’s okay.”

You shook your head frantically. “I’m not—“ you couldn’t say it, saying it would mean having considered it being true. It couldn’t be true, you couldn’t have skipped so many steps because of a tall endearing asshole. “I’m not talking about anyone I know.”

“I’ve seen the way you look at him.”

“He’s handsome, we all know that. But I’m talking about something different, and even if I wasn’t—“ fuck, you didn’t know how to excuse yourself now.

Gwen gripped your hands tightly. “Breathe,” she cooed gently. “You’re shaking from head to toe.”

“I can’t be in love, Gwen!” You exploded, breath getting harsher every second. “I’m supposed to be a lone wolf, and have thousands of cats, and spend the next few years practicing science before killing myself at exactly 27!”

Slender arms wrapped around your neck, soothing sounds filling your ears as you whimpered. “It’s gonna be okay, I promise there’s nothing wrong with it.”

“But there’s a lot wrong with me,” you lamented on her shoulder.

“There’s nothing wrong with you, don’t say that.”

There was. Your weight, and height, and mental health issues, and past, and how selective you were even though you didn’t deserve what your high standards called for. You went on and on about it, another symptom of your psychiatric issues for sure, crying on the shoulder of the woman you had envied for years.

Gwen felt bad for even telling Harry you were not good for each other, and she felt even worse for having been somewhat right although not in the way she had assumed. It didn’t matter to her anymore if you or Harry had issues or how many, and although she was scared either of you would end up being hurt, she wanted to help — she liked seeing you two together.

“If you don’t want to be in love, why did you start dating him?”

“I didn’t expect to fall for someone I didn’t know well. I didn’t even expect to ever fall in love.” You sniffed, sitting down on the bed once Gwen let you go.

“Does he know?” You shook your head to answer her inquiry. “Why?”

Looking down at your shoes, you confessed, “I’ve always thought he was into you.”

“He wouldn’t be dating you if he was! You’re his first serious relationship,” Gwen tried to remind you, “he opens doors for you, cooks with and for you, walks under the rain to relax you, follows your advice, hugs you when you cry, he knows what makes you feel worse or better, drives you to far away cinemas... he looks at you in a way no one will ever look at me.”

“Peter looks at you in a way no one will ever look at me,” you mumbled. The comment wasn’t halfhearted, but you didn’t care about that anymore.

Gwen hummed. “It’s not the same, you’re Harry’s light. He’s distant to all of us still, you know? And maybe he will always be, with you he’s different — he looks happy with you. And...” she stopped herself for a moment to look for the correct words to not offend you, “and I don’t know if you feel happy, I hope you do, but you look relaxed and comfortable with him. I had never heard you cackle until you started dating him.”

“It’s not real.” You couldn’t keep quiet anymore, it was eating you alive.

“You don’t believe me?”

“My relationship with Harry is not real,” you clarified, avoiding Gwen’s face in shame. “I used to have a crush on Peter, a real one that came and went until Harry and his monotone voice spoke about medicine like talking about the fucking weather and suddenly everything I could process were spicy cologne, full lips, and cherries.”

“You wanted Peter to know how it felt,” she asserted. You hummed, even more ashamed now. “Is your ex-crush on him why you stay at school until he’s finished?”

“Will you tell him?” You asked, wearily.

“No.”

“Tony forced me to keep an eye on him. I wasn’t planning on getting a master’s degree in molecular and cellular biology but it was the easiest way to find a balance between babysitting as I inwardly call it, studying, and working. Subsequently, the crush came back by how much time I spent staring at you two. I think I just felt lonely.” You scoffed at the realization. “Talk about being pathetic.”

Gwen didn’t find it was pathetic. She didn’t think Tony had been considerate enough by putting you undercover like that either. “All of that doesn’t change anything Harry and you do or feel.”

“Only on Harry’s behalf.” You hated how your voice broke, a crack that had nothing to do with your tired throat and everything with the approaching heartbreak.

“Why don’t you ask him?”

You stayed silent for a moment, trying to find a way of explaining yourself. Gwen was looking at you so patiently, as if you were worth her time when you had insulted her in your head so many times for something that wasn’t her fault.

“When I...” you started speaking, swallowing harshly, “when everything happened with Quentin... I did it. I asked him how he felt about me, and now I know his answer wasn’t real. Anyone can lie at any moment and—“ you moved your hand in a motion that didn’t really mean anything. “And I don’t think Harry would lie, but I don’t want to hear his rejection.”

Saying it took a huge weight off your shoulders and drilled a hole in your chest at the same time.

Gwen encouraged you to continue speaking about it if you wanted, and you did. You told her all those things no one knew about your relationship with Quentin, you thought she’d understand. Gwen did understand, and listened, and consoled you, she was just that kind. You couldn’t believe you had once thought she was anything but.

“I’ve always wanted to be like you,” you confessed. As you said it, it dawned on you that you had mixed your jealousy toward her with the admiration you felt. “I don’t know how you do it, but you’re always so nice and look so pretty and everyone seems to love you... and you want to do amazing things for other people which is so awesome!”

Gwen granted you a smile, one of those pretty ones only she could carry. “It takes time to be nice, and it’s difficult sometimes,” she said softly, “beauty is subjective, and you already do amazing things for people, I like that about you. Peter does amazing things for people, Harry wants to save the planet — everyone around us does it in different ways. All of those things you don’t like about yourself are not flaws,” she assured you, taking your hand and squeezing it, “they make you special, whoever thinks of those things as a burden isn’t worth your time or efforts.”

You squeezed her hand back. “But everyone will think they’re a burden, and I’m scared of being alone but I hate saying it,” you rasped a lament.

She rested her head on your arm like you often did against Bucky’s to be comfortable. “You have me, I promise.”

You believed her. Maybe because you wanted to cling to the idea that you could have a friend, but mostly because she hadn’t given you a reason not to do it.

#ssttt #harry osborn x reader #harry osborn x plus size reader #plus size reader #plus size fanfiction #plus size series #harry osborn series #fake dating au #harry osborn #marvel x reader #marvel x plus size reader #marvel series

71 notes · View notes