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chiwhorei · 3 years

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𝐀𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐚

✞𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐁𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐬: 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜 𝐈𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧✞

Pairing: Shouta Aizawa x Fem!Reader

Genre: Smut, Dark Content, 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 3,175 [Link to Ao3]

Tags: Darkfic, sacrelige, coercion, corruption, dubcon and noncon elements, intonations and parallels to incest, but not actual incest (ie. ‘Father’ Shouta), choking, age-gap, oral, Priest!Aizawa, Virgin!Reader

From Chiwhorei: Aizawa is where this all started, so it’s fitting he is the subject of my anniversary fic. To everyone who’s followed me along this journey despite the long bouts of radio silence, to everyone that’s participated and supported this collab, to all of my lovely, devious friends— truly, completely, thank you for this past year. Xoxo.

The pain was so sharp that it made me utter several moans; and so excessive was the sweetness caused me by this intense pain that one can never wish to lose it, nor will one’s soul be content with anything less than God.

** ** **

There’s not a soul awake this late.

The rosary wrapped between twitching fingers feels like a hot lashing against the skin. The glass and metal itch in your hold, the devotional was a gift for your confirmation-- it holds a decade of sins.

Your family has been asleep for hours now. Slipping through the back door as soon as you’re sure. Nineteen. A legal adult. Yet the only way to leave in the middle of the night is in secret. The cool, summer air hits your cheeks, it’s still for a moment. It’s so quiet, you feel like you’ve mistaken the real world for a snow globe. Static— in the moments after all of the glitter settles, all of the quiet, iridescent tears laying at your feet. It waits, patiently, until someone comes by to shake it again.

Moving into a cramped dorm room a few hours away, your childhood home feels bigger every visit. It’s bigger because nothing fills the space inside. There’s nothing but tense words and the clatter of silverware against dinner plates. Your father reminds you of an old briefcase— stern, rigid leather, unmistakably empty; your mother’s rose garden smells like poisoned wine.

Roses and leather, the combination suffocating enough to repel you in the hours you should be unconscious.

The walk from your parent’s house to the church is the most familiar thing in the world. Down to the cracks on the sidewalk and mossy steps leading up to a set of large, cherry doors. So routine it almost feels good for you.

There’s not a soul awake this late, you decide, that must be why you’re here.

That must be why he’s up too.

Pushing open one ornate door just enough to peek inside, you’re met with that distinct waft of incense and dusty missals. It smells like every Sunday morning and Easter Vigil, it smells like home.

Only votive candles light the space around you, flickering with intentions from fellow parishioners. You wonder if there’s one burning for you.

You know where to find Father Shouta, and suspect he’s waiting. He can trace every step from your parents home to the front gate. You open the confessional booth and crawl inside, the wooden space around you is cramped. It smells like incense masking cigarettes. Kneeling into the leather cushion, you face the screen partition.

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was,” the memory has you falter, “three months ago.”

You remember the last hollow confession like it was yesterday. You were back in town for spring break. After mass that Sunday, your dad told Father Shouta how deplorable it was that your friends had tried, in vain, to drag you to the beach a few hours away from campus. “A week of drinking and sex, not for my daughter.”

Shouta met with you that evening and you cried your sins to him. How you had been dared to kiss boys at a party during midterms week, how you drank who-knows-what mixed with cheap beer at a frat house. He consoled you then, he told you that God will forgive all transgressions. “Even the sins of a whore.”

The memory makes you want to cry all over again. Yet, here you are— knees pressed to the very same leather, face against the same dusty screen.

He’s so still, so quiet, you jump out of your skin at the sound of his voice, “What is it that you’d like to confess, my child?”

Your body aches, stiff and tense to the bone. You breathe in, shallow and suffocated, before you speak again.

“Father, forgive me I—” you can tell his posture is just as rigid, he’s only a shadowed outline and the slightest glimmer of color from his eyes. They warn you, but you ignore the familiar feeling on the back of your neck.

“I have been having impure thoughts. I’ve been thinking about a man,” one more deep breath in an attempt to keep your voice neutral, “a much older man.”

If you could hear a smile, Father’s creaks like floorboards.

His silence prompts you to continue, you knot your fingers together and hold them against your stomach, the Rosary tangled in between threatening to cut off circulation.

“The boys in my youth group, the ones in my classes— they’re all nice but,” you leave the second half of the sentence to rattle around in your mind, “but they aren’t you.”

“Impure thoughts are one thing, sinful, but,” his voice is indifferent, cold, “the true sins are ones of the flesh.”

“I- I haven’t,” you start to stutter, trying to defend yourself, “I haven’t done anything, Father.”

Despite himself, he laughs.

“It’s true Father,” you wonder why you hadn’t just stayed at home, “I’ve only ever kissed a boy— it wasn’t even a real kiss. I’m still a virgin.”

From the screen, you can only see him in fragments. Little cutouts of a dark figure and sickeningly bright red eyes. The color peaks through like pieces of a puzzle, chasing through the patterned wood before you can catch that he’s stepping out of his side of the confessional booth.

“It wasn’t a ‘real’ kiss,” each word is mimicked, emphasized by the tap of his shoes against the tiles below, “no, of course it wasn’t. Not with some boy.” Your legs are unsteady as you stand from the kneeler. There’s nowhere to hide, Father has you trapped in a toy box. Just for him to play with.

“Of course that wouldn’t have satisfied you.”

The door to your side of the booth creeks open just as your back hits the wall. You can see his face for the first time in months, you trace the features illuminated with candlelight. Father Shouta’s face is strong, even more sharp with his long, black hair tied back. His presence looms over where you’re sunken into the booth. Even standing and puffing out your chest, he’ll still be able to look down at you.

He bares his teeth. You know this by now, stupid little girl, you know he likes to play with his food.

Long fingers grip the small door frame and curl around the wood like an omen, his body slithers into your personal space until he’s only an inch away.

“Lust, greed, what is it that you want?” Each vowel cradles a hearty dose of poison, the consonants bite away and spit you out. Your skin feels raw under his attention, “You can’t atone for sins you’re not really sorry for.”

Those same fingers slide up either curve of your neck, he crawls from shoulder to jaw, slowly. So slowly it seems like he’s trying not to get caught. He holds steady against your skin, thumb rubbing lightly at your bottom lip. You must have just fallen asleep after your parents went to bed, that stale, poisoned house even lulling the restless. You must be dreaming right now.

“Don’t make me ask again.” His timber hits the three walls and brings you back to the present. There’s no rest for you, only a weak answer to his question. What is it that you want?

“I want to be a humble servant of our Lord.” Your voice shakes, battered against your throat on its way to meet the stiff air.

Father’s lips are on you, he traces the words of Luke over your trembling mouth, there’s only a breath of space between you,

“No one can serve two masters. For you will hate one and love the other; you will be devoted to one and despise the other,”

The hands holding your cheeks move down to circle your neck, each long finger lays a trap. He tightens around the skin, just enough to make you forget how it feels to breathe freely. He could do anything to you right now, and your cries for help would be swallowed by stained glass.

No one can serve two masters.

The scream caught in your throat meets his wicked smile, it fizzles into little more than a whimper. The small booth you’ve been trapped in is burning hot, you feel sweat beading on your forehead. The last ounce of courage, of restraint, tumbles out before you can catch it.

“Who do you serve, Father Shouta? God or the Devil?”

He answers you with a thick tongue finally pushing into your mouth. He smells like perfumed oils and votive candles, he tastes like sugar free gum and Seven Stars.

His grip around your neck is the only thing keeping you on your feet, you’re sure if he were to let go you’d melt into the floor below. Father’s lips against yours are a siren, dulling all other senses, rendering you malleable to his will. Whatever his will may be, whatever it is that he wants from you— you’d let him have it anyway.

He breaks away, the kiss that’s felt like hours disappears far too soon. Your body jolts forward of its own volition, trying to connect yourself to him again. You’re sure you look desperate, but you’re too intoxicated to care.

“I serve only myself.”

Father lets go of your neck and you’re allowed the first deep intake of breath you’ve had since walking into the church. You swallow hard, looking back up to him. He scares you, he always has, but that fear draws you towards him.

Does a moth know what the flame will do to it? Does the moth know their fate?

You feel like crying, really crying, but all that comes out are a few frustrated tears. Father leans over you once more, eyes trailing the tear waxing over your cheek, “You’re a wretched little girl.”

Is that why they fly towards fire, because they like the burn?

** ** **

You step forward in line, it’s almost your turn. Mother first, she’s always thought of Father Aizawa as such a “charming young man''. The notion always made you scoff, in reality he’s only a few years younger than your parents.

Your dad is behind you, he’ll give him a friendly handshake after the service and remark how beautiful the homily was. Today, he spoke of the devil tempting Jesus. You hung on every word.

Mother steps aside and makes the sign of the cross, you’re next. A sheep guided by the dutiful shepherd, a lamb onto his slaughter.

Your chin tilts upwards, eyes locked onto your part-time captor. He only has you for a few seconds this time, but his attention is a hallway— every door is a pitfall. Aizawa’s gaze turns red when he looks upon you again— a bright, bloody, captivating red. You’ve convinced yourself it’s a trick of the light. But you see them in the dark too.

“The Body of Christ,” his voice is a welcome mat in front of an asylum, holding out the wafer and obscuring one painfully beautiful eye.

“Amen.” You know you’re part, but you can’t hear your own voice.

Father watches as your eyes close and your mouth opens, a quiet obedience, nothing at all out of the ordinary. Your fingers tingle with how tight you’re holding them together.

He places the Body to your awaiting tongue. It tastes like a harsh nothing that will stick to the back of your throat for the rest of mass. You take Christ in pieces, letting it start to melt into the roof of your mouth.

Shouta brushes your bottom lip before retracting. It’s subtle, an accident— the smallest touch of chilling skin. No one notices, the earth doesn’t stop on its axis for anyone else. You step aside and follow your Mother back to the wooden pews like nothing out of the ordinary stirs in your heart.

You feel Father’s eyes on the back of your skirt. They feel red.

“Your sweet girl here has offered a helping hand getting prepared for a youth retreat the church is hosting next week.” After mass, the stop to shake Father’s hand is inevitable, a pleasantry every parishioner makes time for before shuffling out for Sunday brunch.

He speaks over your quiet, “Good morning, Father Shouta,” right as your family turns to leave, almost as if he had been mulling over whether or not it was worth a mention. He regards them with a veiled casualty, never once looking at you.

Father’s face is kind when he wants it to be, laying a hand in the middle of your shoulder blades, it's a feeling of comfort you can’t help but lean into, “We’re discussing how to remain chaste in a sinful world.”

The word ‘chaste’ is pinched into your spine and despite yourself, you smile. A heavy heart has found home at the bottom of your stomach, but you can’t let on to the sick churning in your gut. Your parents gleam with pride for their daughter. A perfect example of a good Catholic girl.

“I’ll have her meet at my office this evening, is six okay?” His question sounds like your dowry, talking past you and asking for your parents permission.

Your dad shakes Father Shout’s hand once more, delighted at how his diligent parenting must be the reason you’ve found yourself in holy favor. Said ‘parenting’ is definitely to blame, but not in the way your dad assumes.

*** *** ***

The walk through church and into the sacristy is like a meditation in fear, every step begging you to turn back, to run home like a scared child. You tread steady, feet searing on hot coals until you’re met with the sound of Father Shouta just beyond the threshold.

“You’re late.” Something sinister fills Father’s quarters as soon as you open the door. It’s scary how offhandedly he can lie. You’re at least ten minutes early, the evening toll of church bells will signal the hour. He wants to see if you’ll stutter, if you’ll argue. You stay quiet, busying your hands with the hem of your skirt, fingers lifting it slightly before you remember who owns the eyes sitting across the room. They look golden from here, a honey you could drown in. You cough at the feeling of sugar in your lungs before collecting yourself and awaiting instruction.

Seemingly pleased with your docility, he smiles wide and crooked. It’s bound into a book he will whisper into you page by page. It’s written in a language only he knows.

Shouta motions you farther inside, leaning back in his seat. He corrects you when you move to sit in the chair on the other side of his desk, waiting with little patience as you settle against his side instead. Your posture is stiff being this close, being this alone.

His facial hair is trimmed neatly, small scars litter his face, the most pronounced a jagged trail under his right eye. From the dim evening light, you see a shadow of loose hairs make a pointed crown around his head.

“St. Teresa of Avila,” Father starts, tapping his fingers against a small stack of papers, “what do you know of her?”

You’re disarmed, the question seems so innocent-- not a note of ulterior motive detectible. Even so, your guard remains high. His intentions need no subtext.

“St. Teresa of Avila, the patron saint of headache sufferers,” you’re struggling to see the point, but Father prompts you to continue, “she was a Spanish nun, she wrote about a prayerful life,”

After another moment of measured silence, you grow even more tense, “Father Shouta, forgive me, I don’t understand,”

You’re hushed with a laugh, the small collection of papers placed in your hands. The first leaf is titled with large letters, “The Life of Teresa of Jesus.”

“I’d like you to read the section I’ve highlighted.”

You shake, thumbing through until you find a block of text traced in bright yellow. You scan its contents, but are quickly interrupted by Shouta’s next request.

“Out loud.”

There’s no escaping the toy box.

His stare is unwavering, giving you no room for objection. They’re not soft like honey anymore, Father Shouta’s eye’s are harsh, bloody gemstones.

You know better than to keep him waiting, adjusting in your half sat position on the side of his desk, you begin reading with hoarse inflection, “In his hands I saw a long golden spear, and at the end of the iron tip I seemed to see a point of fire. With this he seemed to pierce my heart several times so that it penetrated to my entrails.”

Wincing, the words sound like a stranger in your ears. After every sentence, Shouta’s fingertips inch closer to the end of your skirt, right above the knee. You’d be stoned for this kind of hemline at home, but with Father it seems to be exactly the sacred skin he wanted to see.

His hands move, unwavering, as you continue with the annotated paragraph, “When he drew it out, I thought he was drawing them out with it and he left me completely afire with a great love of God.” Fingers stop their gentle assault before adding pressure to your inner thigh, he peels apart your legs with a wordless prompting to keep going.

“The pain was so sharp that it made me utter several moans; and so excessive was the sweetness caused me by this intense pain that one can never wish to lose it, nor will one’s soul be content with anything less than God.”

By the last several words, Father Shouta’s lips are centered in between your open thighs, you feel tears frozen in the duct. You want to pull away, to escape, but his lips hold something you’ve never been this close to.

“Piety is a virtue,” you can feel the hot breath against your most intimate planes of flesh, “but our God is one of pleasure too.”

His kiss feels like branding. An aimless, confused lamb seared with the mark of its owner.

You cry out, loud and broken, when his mouth meets the cotton covering your pussy. Shouta uses his pointer and middle finger to move the fabric away.

No one has ever seen these parts of you, kept locked away for your future husband until now, sitting in the heart of your family's church, writhing from even the slightest touch.Hips buck of their own accord, and you’re granted one last open-mouthed lave against your twitching cunt. His tongue peaks out slightly to catch your clit before pulling away.

You move as if possessed, falling to your knees in front of your Father. Your mouth opens, that same quiet obedience, and his finger brushes your lower lip again. “No one” you think, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of fingers wrapped into the back of your hair, “no one can serve two masters.”

“Body and soul, you’re mine.”

But there’s not a soul left in sight.

✞ 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞: All writing is chiwhorei’s original content, please do not repost or modify. Do no read my content as asmr. Do not recommend me on TikTok.©️

#aizawa smut #aizawa shouta smut #aizawa x reader smut #bnha smut #bnha x reader smut #heavenly bodies collab #chiwhorei.bnha #chiwhorei.fics #tw: noncon #tw: dubcon #tw: coercion #tw: sacrilegious #tw: corruption #tw: age gap #tw: darkfic

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young-dumb-and-vaccinated · 3 years

Text

The Cult Girl (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 1

This is my first time publishing any of my reader insert work so don’t be too hard on me. Y/N is a psych student that needs a favor and asks her therapist for help. Lmk if you want to see more.

It was an unmistakable conflict of interest, your relationship with Hannibal. He was your therapist, your mentor, your partner, and many years your senior to boot. You recognized this monumental power imbalance. You put on a façade of embarrassment for the people who expected it; people whose proclivities were done in the shadows and therefore easier to get away with. Why should you be expected to rationalize your loving, mutually beneficial relationship to a person who regularly cheats on her boyfriend?

You'd dated men your own age before, and without fail, you always found yourself waiting for them to grow up. Hannibal made you feel comfortable. Both emotionally and physically. You had a side of his bed and a spot in his arms to fall asleep in every night. Given the choice, you could truthfully say you'd never want to leave his arms.

Like many unlikely relationships, it didn’t start out in the most romantic of ways. Clutching your laptop under your raincoat, you hesitated knocking. Your therapist had, of course, seen you at your lowest points and was sworn to secrecy, but this was a low you didn’t want even him to see. Standing outside of his home, in the so-incredibly-not-business-hours dead of night with mascara running down your face.

You finally worked up the nerve to knock, telling yourself that he was probably asleep and wouldn’t hear you. This rationalization fell apart when the interior light turned on and the door unlocked. Although you’d been seeing Dr. Lecter for quite a while, his presence never failed to intimidate you. Now it was even worse. His severe expression was fixated on you as he silently awaited an explanation.

“Dr. Lecter...” You lowered your head and fumbled with your computer. You made a point to kiss your last shreds of dignity goodbye before you opened your mouth again. “...could I please borrow a book?”

Dr. Lecter narrowed his eyes. “I take it by the hour, this is an urgent matter, Miss [L/N]?”

“My midterm. It’s due in...” You glanced at your watch. “Eight hours.”

“Well you don’t have a moment to waste, now do you?” Dr. Lecter said, a slight upturn in his voice connoting amusement. “Come in. Let’s find you that book.”

You felt your muscles relax as he stepped aside to let you in. The house was spacious. Much too large for one person. That was really the only thing you could bring yourself to notice before he shut the door behind you.

“Now what is this all-important book of yours called?” He asked, pulling your raincoat from your shoulders like he always did.

“It’s called Thought Reform and the Psychology of Totalism.” You explained, tucking your computer under your arm. “By Robert Jay Lifton.”

“You’re in luck, Miss [L/N].” His thin lips turned up into a smile. “I have a copy from my own years as a student.”

You breathed an audible sigh of relief. You tensed your muscles and held in your excitement at the prospect of something finally going according to plan, even if that plan was your third or fourth backup.

You followed him into his office, which reminded you more of Belle’s library than any workspace you’d ever encountered. He must have had thousands of books in this room alone.

“It’s a fascinating read, but not one you could finish in eight hours.” Dr. Lecter's voice echoed from somewhere in the office, getting lost in the books. “Even for the most ravenous of psychology students, of which I know you to be.”

"Hardly." You muttered under your breath. "If that were the case, I wouldn't be begging for help at 2am before the final paper is due."

"Procrastination is only human, my dear." He assured you, his voice drawing closer. "It's common in those with deep-rooted insecurities about their competency."

"Now that sounds more like me." You joked, leaning back on your heels. "Should you really be trying to validate my bad habits? I feel like that's counterproductive."

"Scolding you would be more counterproductive." He corrected. "You've been scolded many times before and you continue your bad habits. Only when we get to the root of your behavior can you begin to reverse it."

He emerged from the bookshelves and handed you a beat-up copy of Thought Reform and the Psychology of Totalism, which you graciously accepted.

“Thank you so much, Dr. Lecter.” You said, placing your hand over your heart. "I owe you my life."

"I'd hardly equate your life to a used book, Miss [L/N]." Dr. Lecter said. "I feel like, as your therapist, we should talk about why you do."

You looked away, smiling sheepishly. "Maybe sometime in daylight. I've taken up enough of your time as it is. I'll get out of your hair now."

"It would take you more time to get back to your dorm that you could use writing." He said, matter-of-factually. "Write your paper in my office."

You looked at him in disbelief. Your judgment was clouded with energy drinks and desperation. So your usual self-sacrificing polite denial was steamrolled by a very enthusiastic acceptance. "I would be forever indebted to you, Dr. Lecter."

"Miss [L/N]," Dr. Lecter cut in. "You're a student, you need to study."

You didn’t really remember a lot of what happened after you wrapped your arms around his waist, too overwhelmed with gratitude to think if an embrace was even appropriate. It was the middle of the night, so you had an excuse if he shoved you off him. But surprisingly, he didn’t.

You broke the embrace and gathered up your book and computer. “Seriously, I owe you big time for this. You’re really saving my life here.”

“Go write your paper, [F/N].” He ordered. “We can discuss why you conflate your academics and your life during our next appointment. For now, make yourself at home.”

And that you did. Dr. Lecter retired back to bed and you spent a solid four hours typing away. An antique grandfather clock kept count for you. When you couldn’t keep your eyes open any longer, you sent the paper off to your professor, editing be damned. You let sleep compel you, comforted by the fact that you didn't have to think about your paper for at least another week before the grading period was over.

Dr. Lecter’s desk was the most comfortable surface in the world to you that night, because you slept for six hours with only your arms as a pillow. It was the first rest your body had gotten in quite some time. You were gently coaxed awake by the smell of something delicious.

You followed the smell into a kitchen that could rival those of Michelin-starred restaurants. Dr. Lecter was hard at work, cooking something that enticed your nose. He cracked an egg and looked up at you. “Good morning, Miss [L/N].”

“I’m sorry.” You said, shaking your head shamefully.

“For?” He asked, fixing his attention back on his recipe.

“Falling asleep.” You dropped your shoulders.

“I told you to make yourself at home, did I not?” He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. This time, he sounded like he was actually going to scold you. “Tell me, do you sleep at your desk at home?”

“I try not to.” You answer with a shrug.

“But when you feel yourself falling asleep, you usually put yourself to bed, right?” He continued.

You started to feel a bit stupid. “...yeah.”

He poked at some sausage links in a frying pan, letting out a sizzle. “You could have taken the couch.”

“I guess I was just too sleepy to think of that.” You explained, preparing to be psychoanalyzed no matter what you said.

“No, you were just too polite to push the imagined boundaries of my invitation.” He concluded, busying his hands with plating whatever it was he was making. His tone was comfortingly familiar. “Miss [L/N], don’t sacrifice your comfort for what you think I perceive to be rude. If I found you rude, you’d know it.”

"I'm sorry." You repeated.

"Don't apologize." He said, reaching for the pepper mill. "I know your anxiety disorder makes you feel like you are a burden. I assure you, you are not. I want you to know for next time that the couch is open. Or you could take the guest bedroom."

You stopped yourself before you could apologize again. You momentarily pondered what he had to say before uttering a quiet but convicted "Thank you."

"You're very welcome." Dr. Lecter slid a plate across the table in your direction. "Eat, my dear."

You didn't need to be told twice. You usually didn’t care for sausage, but reconsidered when you took a bite. The meat was so flavorful and rich, a little noise of delight escaped your lips.

Dr. Lecter smiled, your little moan sending his ego through the roof. “You like it?”

“It’s delicious.” You put your fork down, your face flush with embarrassment. “Way better than the food at the dining hall.”

“Miss [L/N],” Dr. Lecter began, putting an extra sausage link on your plate. “If you find yourself in need of psychology texts, I’d be happy to extend my invitation indefinitely.”

You nearly choked on your eggs. “On god?”

“Given that you arrive sometime before midnight and perhaps call ahead, yes.” He answered. “Your studies are your life and breath, after all. You would find yourself very accommodated to here.”

This time, you'd really take him up on his offer.

#hannibal x reader #hannibal x you #hannibal nbc #hannibal lecter #reader insert #first fic #its probably crap #an attempt was made

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rjhpandapaws · 3 years

Text

A Hand in the Matter

Chapter 12: Adopted by Strays

"So tell me about Garrett.” Silas said as he settled onto Richard’s couch. It was one of his rare days off and for once he wasn’t spending it at the theater, “What’s he like?” Richard rolled his eyes at the protective lilt to Silas’s voice, ‘Gavin.’ He corrected, ‘He Is Kind. Different From You And Connor. Rough Edges. Noisy.’ “You don’t normally like loud.” Silas remarked as Richard brought the drinks into the living room. ‘I Know.’ Richard agreed, ‘Something About His Noise Brings Comfort.’ “He brings liveliness with him.” Silas said, and then more absently, “Like Allen.” Richard paused. He hadn’t heard this name before, and he didn’t think he had been meant to now. Silas had let on that he made a new friend at work, but had never given a name. There was something in the way he said it. A reverence to it that he normally only reserved for Daniel. ‘Who A-L-L-E-N?” He asked. Silas froze for a moment, “Shit.” He scrambled to recover, “He’s just a friend from the theater, a new security guard. No one important.”

Richard stared at Silas over the rim of his mug. There was more to it than that. “No.” Silas responded, “Don’t you look at me like that. I’m here to talk about your newly acquired problem, not mine.” ‘Who Said He Was A Problem?’ Richard replied and Silas let out an annoyed huff. “Okay so I might be projecting a little.” He continued, “Anyway Gavin. Tell me about him. Starting why he was here for a whole fucking weekend.” Richard gestured to his now decorated apartment, ‘We Redecorated. He Is Friend From School. Very Kind. We Met At Cafe. He Has Cat.’ “There it is.” Silas said with a laugh, “He has a cat, that’s why you like him so much.” Richard rolled his eyes, ‘So Who A-L-L-E-N?’ “Fine.” Silas said with false annoyance to his voice, “I suppose it’s only fair that I tell you about my new friend since you told me about yours.” Richard nodded and waited for Silas to decide what things about Allen he wanted to share. There probably wouldn’t be much, but he clearly left an impression on Silas.

His brother was a private person. Both of them were really, but Silas did it oddly. Where Connor would avoid the topic or politely decline; Silas would give non-answers or selectively give information. Even though he didn’t typically say anything that helped to make it so someone understood the situation, they would feel like they did. He gave the illusion of transparency. It was the reason so many people thought they knew him well without actually knowing anything about him. There was a quiet sigh that marked Silas as being ready to talk, honestly, “He’s just a guy, there isn’t anything remarkable about him. Tall, brown hair, and eyes to match. You could lose him in a crowd without even trying.” He stopped and looked down at his tea, “But I always know he’s there. Even when I don’t see him. I’m hyperaware and I hate it. He’ s nice though, before you worry. Concerned for me not too unlike Daniel, but different at the same time.” ‘He Sounds Interesting.’ He didn’t really know how to respond. He wasn’t good with emotions, that was more of Connor’s thing. “He’s great.” Silas said it like a confession and Richard smiled.

‘I Happy For You.’ Richard said. Silas hummed, “Thanks.” They stayed like that for a while. Silas was back in his own thoughts and Richard let him be. He knew his brother had plans with Connor later so it was better if he got this out of his system now, otherwise Connor would go full big brother mode and that never ended well. “If you ever feel like it, you could introduce me to Gavin.” Silas said eventually, “I’ll be on my best behavior, I promise.” Richard smiled, this was a small gesture but it meant a lot since he’d never had a friend of his own, ‘After Finals.’ Silas nodded and placed his empty mug on the coffee table, “Sounds like a plan.” He looked at the time on his phone, “I’m gonna head home for a smoke and a shower. Connor wants to go out and do something now that we both have the time.” Richard could understand that. He needed time to decompress before going out as well, ‘Have Fun.’ “I’ll try.” Silas remarked as he stood, “I’m sure it will be fun once I’m ready.”

He walked Silas to the door and they hugged before Silas left. He did the dishes and put the mugs away so he wouldn’t have to do it later. Richard took out his phone to see if Gavin wanted to hang out. His most recent message was from Gavin letting him know he had plans with friends tonight. Gavin talked about them a lot. Chris and Tina, he seemed to like them and Richard wondered what they were like. They had borrowed Tina’s truck when they took his closet doors to be recycled but that was the closest he had come to meeting her. Richard was perfectly content with just Gavin, but he would like to meet the people he thought so highly of. The people who responsible for that stupid shit eating grin that always meant that he caused trouble and had gotten away with it. To thank them, he supposed, for making Gavin so happy. He put his phone away and went into the room that served as his office. He could draw for a while and then he’d probably go to sleep. He and Gavin had plans to study tomorrow and one of them had to be in a good state of mind. He figured Gavin would probably have a hangover from drinking more than he should have.

The sketch unsurprisingly turned into another drawing of Gavin. He looked up sports bar interiors so he could do the piece justice. Gavin was leaning on the table in his usual manner, with one forearm resting on it to prop it up the other elbow resting on it with his free hand gesturing in the air as he spoke. It took Richard a while to decide what the drink would be, but he eventually decided on beer. Gavin didn’t seem the type to do fancier drinks. When he checked the time again it was two in the morning. What was meant to be a sketch was now inked and flatly colored which wasn’t anything that he planned on doing. It was in his personal sketchbook so Gavin wouldn’t have to see it. He didn’t want to run the risk of creeping him out. He sat back and stretched with a sigh. It was time to call it a night if he wanted to be able to concentrate while they were studying. He picked up his sketchbook and put it in its place on the shelf. Away from his other sketchbooks so he didn’t run the risk of mixing them up. After that he got ready for bed.

He woke up his usual time. He rolled to turn of his phone alarm and found he had a few messages from his brother.

Connor: Hey. The cafe is going to be closed for a while. Connor: A pipe burst last night and there is a ton of water damage Connor: You’ll have to have your study dates somewhere else for a while. Me: Don’t worry. Just be safe. Me: They aren’t dates

Richard knew it would be a while before Gavin woke up. He had gotten a couple of drunk texts he still hadn’t been able to decipher. He finished getting ready for the day and deiced it was late enough in the morning to text Gavin and see if they could figure something out.

Me: The cafe is close for a few days because a pipe broke. Me: Is there another place we could meet?

About an hour passed before his phone chimed with a reply from Gavin.

Gavin Reed: There’s a place near me called Pawsome Coffee. It’s a cat cafe if that’s okay. Me: That works. Can you send me the address? Gavin Reed: Sure!

The cafe was a little out of his usual walking range, but it was nice out so he figured he could try. If he left now he could make it there by their meeting time. The walk was pleasant and he had caught his breath by the time Gavin made it. He was a little late, but that was normal. The cafe wasn’t too busy when they walked in, but it wasn’t long after they had opened. They ordered their drinks and settled at a table by the windows. He was barely able to get his things out before he was buried in cats. It started with a weight settling across his shoulders and he looked to find a short haired white cat lounging there like it was normal. Two more hopped onto the table. They grey one pawed at him and the rust colored one seemed content to just watch him. A black one settled in his lap and he was officially buried in cats. Gavin took sympathy and went to get their drinks once they were up. “Well aren’t you Mister Popular.” He joked as he set the drinks down and grabbed the rest of what they would need since he was significantly less trapped, “Normally it takes them a few visits for them to warm up to new people.” ‘I Not Do Anything Special.’ He said then pet the grey cat that was still persistently pawing at him.

Gavin settled in at the table, “I think you just have that effect on cats and some people. Are you even going to be able to study like that?” ‘Yes.’ He replied as he stopped petting the now sleeping grey cat, ‘S-I-L-A-S worse.’ Gavin laughed, “There is that I suppose.” ‘Will You.’ He pressed. “Yeah.” Gavin said as he opened his textbook, “I used to study here all the time before I adopted Franklyn. She doesn’t like it too much when I come home smelling like other cats.” ‘Dirty Cheater.’ Richard signed in a deadpan. He wasn’t ready for Gavin to start coughing. Richard hadn’t seen him pick up his drink. That had been bad timing on his part. Gavin laughed as he caught his breath, “God damn it Richard, you can’t just say things like that when a guy is drinking his coffee. You could have killed me.” Richard rolled his eyes. He was being just as dramatic as ever which meant he was fine. They finally began studying, and Gavin had fewer questions than Richard thought he would. He was glad that Gavin had made so much progress. Especially since midterms started on Monday.

It only took him two hours to give in and pet the cats that were on and around him. Gavin had done well today and they both deserved a break. It was a stretch to justify his distraction, but it was the only way he could do this without feeling guilty. “Hey. So I have a question.” Richard looked up when Gavin spoke, he looked almost uncomfortable, “Chris and Tina were wondering if they could meet you. Apparently I talk about you a lot and they’re curious. Obviously if you don’t want to, just say so and I’ll let them know.” ‘Not Today.’ He didn’t have the spoons, ‘This Weekend Maybe? If You Not Busy?’ Gavin nodded, “How does Saturday sound? That’s Chris’s day off.” ‘Saturday Works.’ Richard said, ‘Can We Meet Here? Hand Brewed Hope Not Open.’ Gavin agreed an spent a little more time telling him about his friends. It was nice to know what he was in for. They sounded like fun and Richard was actually looking forward to it. They parted ways with plans to meet back at Pawsome Coffee on Saturday. He didn’t have the energy to walk back so he hailed a cab.

With meeting Gavin’s friends on the horizon Richard didn’t worry about his midterms at all. He was too busy worrying about making a bad first impression. He was a little odd according to most people and a lot of people didn’t take his being nonverbal very well. They always assumed that he was being rude. Gavin didn’t seem to mind it so he hoped his friends would be the same. When Saturday rolled around Richard wound up at the cafe before it opened. The walk had helped to clear his head but anxiety still bubbled beneath his skin. When the cafe opened he settled at the same table as last time. The same cats as before made themselves comfortable on him again. Chris was the first to show up. Richard noticed he had hearing aids and some his anxiety melted away. His being nonverbal wasn’t going to be a problem it seemed. He introduced himself and they went up to order their drinks. They signed to one another until Tina slid into the booth, then Chris began to interpret for him. It was nice. Gavin was the last one to show up, late again, but no one really cared. He set his drink on the table and picked up the cat that was beside Richard so he could take its place, “I swear you keep treats or some shit in your pockets.”

‘I Thought You Said I Have Captivating Personality.’ Richard teased. “With people as well as cats apparently.” Gavin remarked as he rolled his eyes. “Captivating personality huh?” Chris laughed. “Oh shut up Chris.” Gavin said with no real anger to his words. Tina looked a little bit lost, “So am I the only one that doesn’t know Sign Language then?” “Yeah.” Gavin shrugged, “But I’m still learning so don’t worry.” ‘I Teach You If You Want.” He offered. Gavin spoke for him, “He said he would teach you if you would like. Or we could add him to the group chat.” “Why not both?” She replied, “But it really sounds like he has enough on his plate with tutoring you so Chris can teach me instead.” She gave Chris a gentle shove, “Lord knows we have enough time with all the hours we spend on patrol together or at our desks.” “Thanks for asking T.” He responded dryly, “But we aren’t here for that.” “True.” She agreed, “We’re here to have coffee and a good time.” The conversation picked up some after that. It was a lot of reminiscing, and despite not having been there for any of it, he still felt included. He learned a lot about Gavin and it was nice.

“We go out for drinks at a local bar on Fridays if you ever want to join us.” Tina offered as they got ready to leave. ‘Sounds Fun.’ Richard replied and Gavin let out a put upon groan. “We can cab together then I guess.” Gavin said with a slight smile. ‘Thank You.’ He was looking forward to it despite the fact that he didn’t drink. They went their separate ways outside of the cafe. Richard flagged a cab and felt his phone buzz.

Chris added Me to: Oh No! Its the Cops. Me: Thank you for today. I had a lot of fun. Tina: Of course! it was great to finally meet you. Chris: See you Friday! Gavin Reed: I’m in danger. Me: Only if you don’t take care of yourself. Tina: I like him Chris: Same

Richard smiled at his phone. For once he wasn’t nervous about having plans. He supposed he belonged to a group of friends now. It was funny how fact things could change. He still had his brothers, but now he had a group of friends of his own. There would be no more being passed between baristas and actors. Better yet, this time he wasn’t afraid. Even if he was, he had people he could turn to now.

#A Hand in the Matter #AHM #reed900 #dbh Gavin #dbh Nines #dbh fic #dbh

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viltrumitesuperboy · 4 years

Text

Sandman (Peter Parker x Sandman Reader)

Sorry this one’s kinda shit cause I meant to put it with the other villain request. I decided not to and ended up having no ideas for this one.

Requested by: anon Could you pretty please write a Peter Parker x Sandman!Male reader? He was always my favourite Sinister Six member growing up and for now nobody has been cast as him in the MCU, so it feels like a perfect role for reader inserts. You could make the reader straight up evil or you could make him a more sympathetic antagonist like the Sandman was in the OG trilogy.

Word count: 1617

When they told you they could make your life better, you didn't think you'd end up as a science experiment. You had just gone through the events of the Battle of New York as a child and lost your family. The first people you turned to were adults who said they could help, and they lied.

They had done testing on you after you panicked about being able to turn into sand of all things. But within a few days, you found a vent with just enough space for you to filter yourself out and back into the real world. You changed your appearance when alone in public and didn't draw attention to yourself so they couldn't find you.

There wasn't a day that went by that didn't make you think of the Battle of New York. Your whole life was there in New York City, so you couldn't leave. You saw your family dying when you fell asleep. When you woke up, your roommate would give you a sympathetic smile as she made you breakfast.

Betty Brant was understanding and had lost family in the event as well. She wasn't too close to her cousins, but it still affected her and her family. Her parents were kind enough to let you stay with them for many years, knowing how much the event affected your life. None of them had anticipated exactly how much it affected you.

The first time you used your powers in public, you stopped a car crash, but the traffic caused more damage than the initial crash. You fled immediately, and suddenly your fleeing figure was on the front page of newspapers and TV news channels. Still, you remained hidden.

The ability of changing your appearance was by far one of the best parts of your unwelcome powers. Turning into sand served as a good way to sneak around. It led you to your job working with another scientist. Sure, they weren't exactly your favourite people, but Toomes had a goal of keeping his family safe considering the dangerous lives people lived when amongst superpowered people. You knew that he was just doing what he could to keep his family supported.

Whenever he needed a hand, you snuck out of the Brant's house late at night to aid him in collecting technology from different facilities. Sometimes it was just a more difficult job, like Avengers-related items, which meant that you would have to help. Your only request was that he did not go near Midtown Tech. You had to keep Betty safe. He agreed, since his daughter was there.

Then Spider-Man came along and tore that life apart.

Toomes was sent to jail, and he had broken his promise of not going near Midtown. He let Shocker stand guard there on the night of your homecoming dance, of all times, fighting the vigilante. He had put your one, and maybe only, friend at risk for his own desires. You split from him and took your own path. It wasn't quite the best idea.

"Hands in the air!"

You mumbled a curse to yourself as you turned around, your arms up in surrender. Your appearance was that of a random person you had seen the other day. The news caught on eventually that all these random people, ex-criminals or not, were not the ones committing petty theft or, in your current case, not-so-petty theft.

"Look, I'm not just going to stand around," you called back, the new voice unfamiliar to you. "I'll escape easily."

There were a few more shouts and you stepped out of the broken glass window and onto the sidewalk. Suddenly, you were hit in the shoulder and thrown to the ground.

"Hey! What the-"

A web covered your torso, holding you down. Spider-Man.

"God, you're stupid," you grumbled.

You let yourself turn into sand and escaped his webs easily. He stood on a rooftop, and you turned back into sand to get yourself up there.

"So, we finally meet. After you took down my employer and I realised who he really was, I thought I wouldn't have to see that stupid mask in person," you said.

"H-Hey! It's not stupid!" Spider-Man whined.

"Oh really?"

You shifted your appearance to look like him, a perfect copy.

"Oh, do I really stand like that? Wow, that's so awkward," Spider-Man mumbled to himself. "Maybe I should put my arms-"

"Pay attention!" you shouted. "You don't know anything about me, and I don't want to get involved with you. You let me leave and never cross paths with me again, and life will be better for you."

"Are you threatening me? Cause that kind of sounds like one. I don't really wanna fight anyone if I don't have to," he said, quickly enough that you couldn't interrupt him.

You got closer to him until you were only a foot away, and pointed your currently red-gloved finger at his chest.

"If you stay out of my life, I'll stay out of yours. I'm sure you have loved ones you don't want getting hurt, do you?"

"You wouldn't."

"No, but information is easy to get, Spider-Man. And no one can get it quieter than someone who can turn into sand."

"You've lost someone, haven't you?"

It was quiet, and the only thing you could hear were the sirens still surrounding you, and the occasional shout from a drunk person on the street.

"It’s none of your business."

You collapsed yourself into a pile of sand and left with the night wind to blow you back home. You could still feel the crack in your voice, sounding just like Spider-Man, in the last sentence you spoke.

———

It had been a few weeks since you took any jobs. Betty was completely oblivious to anything you had done in the past year, but she knew when something was wrong. Every once in a while, she'd come to the room you shared with her with two bowls of your favourite snacks and would watch a film or show you enjoy. She knew you so well and you felt bad that you never told her about what happened to you. Still, you had to keep her safe.

It was some random day during midterms when you were just stressed about everything. You found a random rooftop in the city to hang around, wearing the face of yet another stranger. You heard a distant whooshing noise and then quiet footsteps on the roof behind you.

"The city's beautiful at night, isn't it?" you asked, leaning back on your hands. "Too bad it's the reason we can't see the stars out here."

"Uh, yeah," Spider-Man responded. "Sometimes I just like to hang around Times Square with all the billboards."

He took a seat somewhere on the edge of the rooftop near you. You turned to look at him.

"That's the same suit you wore last time. You used to have that old one with the hoodie, didn't you? Like when you were fighting Toomes," you observed.

"Yeah, I have a... sponsor?"

"You don't seem so sure about that."

Spider-Man laughed, mimicking your position leaning back on his hands.

"Hey, about last time, I didn't want to overstep any boundaries. If you have lost someone, I'm sorry," he said, just loud enough for you to hear over the nighttime city sounds.

"It was my family. Battle of New York. And now I have these stupid powers because of it."

Your voice began to break again. The first time telling anyone the truth was always the hardest.

"Let me guess: you didn't know where else to go?" Spider-Man asked. "So you took the first option and it was the worst one?"

You nodded, tears beginning to fall. He shuffled a bit closer and put a hand on your shoulder.

"You know- no, you don't know. God, that's stupid."

You let yourself chuckle at his awkward slip-up.

"Okay. When I first got my powers, I did something stupid. It got my uncle killed. But he gave me words to live by and it's the one thing that pushes me forward. I do what I do because I have the ability to do it. It's so easy for people to give in to the money, but I guess that's the one thing that makes me different. I might not exactly be the richest person around, but what does it matter when there are people whose lives could be saved because a kid decided that he didn't want them to go through what he did?"

You took a few moments to contemplate his words as you searched his mask.

"How... how do you give so much even when you're struggling like that?"

He shrugged and stood up, offering his hand.

"Maybe another time. Mind if I swing you around? Just for fun."

You ended up going through Times Square, laughing all the while. You had him bring you home and let your disguise fall.

"Hey, this is... Wait, I know you. I-I've seen you," the vigilante stuttered.

"This is Betty Brant's house. I'm (Y/N)," you said.

The extremely stupid man pulled off his mask in excitement.

"No way! I'm Peter! From the Academic Decathalon team with Betty!" he exclaimed.

"Perfect disguise, huh? A teenage nerd who can hide his body under baggy clothes. Way better than what I can do," you joked.

He gave you a hug as he was leaving, both of you holding on longer than you had to.

"You can always talk to me. I know what it's like to lose family and get some really weird powers along with it. You aren't alone."

You smiled into his shoulder. Maybe things would be okay.

#x male reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker x male reader #peter parker x male!reader #spiderman x male reader #spiderman x reaer #peter parker imagine #male reader #peter parker #request

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writingpuddle · 4 years

Note

Hello congrats on 500 followers! Do you think you would be interested in writing something about the foxes camping? Maybe as a team bonding trip or a reunion? Honestly whatever you feel like I love reading your fics and head cannons! They never fail to cheer me up!

ah anon, you get me. read it on ao3

Moonlight

The smell of campfire smoke saturated the night air. Neil’s soles scuffed against the gravel on the road as he followed the others, the breeze sending a zing of energy through him. The two apple ciders he’d drunk earlier glowed in his stomach like sunshine.

“No, I’m sure it was this way,” Nicky said, his voice too loud and blurry with drink.

“Oh my god, Nicky,” Allison said. “You couldn’t find the bathroom in daylight.”

“The map is confusing!” Nicky protested. “Oh look! The playground!”

Nicky’s shadow darted off the road towards the shadowy structure. The others laughed, stumbling after him. Matt tripped over the wooden frame and nearly hit the ground, but Dan was there to catch him. A second later he gasped softly, dashing towards a tiny wooden horse on a spring. He folded his giant frame down onto the horse and rocked wildly back and forth. Neil had to stifle a laugh at the ridiculous sight.

“This is stupid,” Kevin said peevishly. “You are acting like children.”

Dan and Renee exchanged a glance, then grabbed him by his elbows, dragging him over to a brightly coloured playground merry-go-round. He shouted in protest as Dan trapped him in one of the segments while Renee starting the whole thing spinning around.

“Neeeeeil,” Nicky called. “Teeter totter, now!”

“Don’t use him,” Allison said derisively. “He’s too small to balance.”

“That’s the point! I bet I can launch him clear off the—Neil, where are you going?”

The field sloped away beneath the park, the slightly overgrown grass dampening Neil’s shoes. Leaves fluttered in the breeze. Glimmers of moonlight off the lake peeked between the branches.

“Neil, don’t you dare—”

Neil’s feet had already carried him down the slope a few steps, the allure of the water drawing him away. At the sound of Nicky’s voice, he glanced over his shoulder. Nicky started towards him, and all the buzzing in Neil’s chest lit up at once. He took off at a sprint, laughter frothing in his chest. The grass under his feet was springy and damp and the playground dropped away behind him.

He ducked between the trunks of the trees. The lake loomed in front of him and his feet ripped up the grass as he sprinted towards the beach. The air whistled and he tipped his head up to the sky. His hair blew back from his face, the wind whipping moisture from his eyes.

A body barrelled into him from the side. He went down with a shout, tumbling across the grass and coming to a halt laying on his back. Allison rolled a few feet further, breathless with laughter. “Brat,” she gasped. Her hair had blown free of its braided crown and hung messily over her face.

Neil snickered, dropping his head back against the grass. The stars overhead twinkled. The Foxes had planned this camping trip impromptu after getting booted from the last round of championships; the only person who had bailed was Aaron claiming “midterms” and “assignments” as his excuse. As if they didn’t all have plenty of those they were ignoring. Neil couldn’t say he was that disappointed at Aaron’s absence. Their relationship had gotten less tense over the past year, but they were a long way from friends.

The sounds of running feet and panting approached. Neil didn’t move, stretching his arms out in the grass. Vaguely, he knew the looseness in his limbs was at least partly alcohol, but right then it didn’t matter.

“Neil—you—rat—bastard—” Nicky gasped, stumbling to a stop and doubling over, planting his hands on his knees.

“Why?” Matt whined, leaning against a tree.

Neil shrugged, the grass beneath him tickling his neck when he moved. “I just felt like running.”

“Bitch,” Dan said, without heat as she caught up. A rather green-looking Kevin came up behind her and sat heavily in the grass.

Allison rolled over, a smug look on her face. “Alright, losers,” she said. “You know what’s next.”

“What now?” Kevin said despondently.

Allison looked at the lake, then looked back at them significantly.

“Ally, babe, I love you, but I am too drunk to read your mind right now,” Dan said.

“We’re going skinny-dipping, morons,” Allison said.

“It’s freezing out!” Nicky protested. Matt nodded earnestly in agreement.

“So you’re gonna have to be quick,” Allison said loftily.

“My gay ass was not meant to—"

“Shh!” Allison waved a finger, shushing them. “Nope! Y’all made me sleep in a tent, this is the price. Shut up, Kevin.”

“I didn’t even say anything that time,” Kevin muttered.

“We could’ve rented trailers, but no, we had to do this authentically—”

“Fine, fine!” Dan said. “Come on Matt, I need your furnace-butt next to me if I’m not gonna freeze to death.”

“But Dan—”

“You heard her,” Dan said, and her expression had gone from resigned to devilish now that she’d switched sides. “We’re getting the authentic camping experience. Up, on your feet, all of you.”

Neil rolled over onto his stomach, contemplating the silvery ripples on the lake. It really did look cold.

A shoe nudged his side. “Up you get, Josten,” Allison said. She’d already peeled her shirt off and stood there in only a lacy bra and her skin-tight jeans. Even Kevin was reluctantly stripping down.

“It’s dark out, and nobody is going to see you,” Allison said. “Shy doesn’t suit you.”

Neil poked her ankle with his finger and she jumped. “Fuck, ice fingers,” she snapped. “Get up and get changed, asshole.”

Neil considered pestering her a little more, but the others were already stripping down, so he pushed himself to his feet and ducked behind a tree.

After about a minute he heard Matt hollering, followed by Allison shouting, “Wait, you idiot, we have to go toget—”

“LEROY JENKINS!” Matt bellowed, and then a tremendous splash broke the night. Dan cackled as Matt came up gasping.

Neil leaned out from his hiding place just in time to see Matt’s bare ass poke out of the water before he dove down under again. Renee and Dan had already waded in to their hips, and Allison jabbed her finger at Kevin to make him move. He scrunched his shoulders as he pushed the water out in front of him before all of their attention was seized by Matt surfacing with a great spout of water.

They shrieked as it sprayed over the lot of them, thoroughly distracted. Neil watched as Renee slid smoothly into the water, her moonlit hair glinting before she slipped beneath the surface. A second later a shivering Nicky yelped and vanished underwater, coming up spluttering while Renee laughed like chiming bells.

A fond smile quirked Neil’s lips. He watched their antics for a minute longer before collecting up all of their discarded clothes and heading back up towards the campsite. He was halfway up the field when he heard an outraged shout behind him, and he broke into a trot, the clothes firmly tucked under his elbow.

They had needed two campsites between the eight of them; the fire still burned in the main one, shielded by Matt’s oversized truck. A single figure sat next to it with a flask in one hand. His blond hair shimmered, golden in the firelight.

Andrew looked up as Neil approached, but didn’t say anything. Neil dropped the pile of clothes next to his camp chair and dropped into the chair next to Andrew with a contented sigh.

Andrew flicked his gaze down to the clothing and back at Neil in a wordless question. Neil linked his pinky finger with Andrew’s. “They went swimming,” he said.

A single smooth eyebrow raised, and Neil couldn’t help smirking. He let his gaze drift back to the fire. Andrew had kept it well-fed in their absence, stoking it up to a lively blaze. His shoes were smudged with ash from where he kept propping them up to warm his feet.

“This was a good idea,” Neil said. “This was fun.”

The fire crackling was the only response he got. “I guess you’re not really into fun, anyway,” Neil jabbed.

Andrew’s hand shifted, turning Neil’s over and brushing away the bits of vegetation clinging to it. Neil was pretty sure he’d be picking grass out of his hair until they got back to Palmetto.

“I,” Andrew started, then stopped, a frown forming between his eyebrows. Neil’s attention sharpened at Andrew’s tone, his lighthearted smile fading. Andrew’s frustration was nearly palpable.

“I don’t know how,” Andrew said finally, tucking his chin and staring into the fire. His hand tightened on Neil’s, calloused and warm from being tucked in his pockets.

Neil’s throat tightened a little. Andrew’s control had always been his armour; he didn’t know how to set it down without being afraid. They’d found places where the walls could give, now, but Neil didn’t think they would ever really come down entirely. He dragged his thumb across Andrew’s knuckles, pulling them up and kissing the back of his hand. Andrew watched him with hooded eyes.

“That’s alright,” he said. “Someone needs to keep the fire going.”

Andrew let out a long breath through his nose, shooting Neil an unimpressed look, but Neil thought his shoulders relaxed a little, too and counted that as a win. He took a deep breath through his nose, tipping his head back to contemplate the thin patch of stars visible between the trees above them. “Alcohol, helps, though,” he said lightly.

Andrew snorted. “Lightweight.”

A flash of pale skin dashed past the entrance to the campsite.

Neil bit back a smile as a muffled curse came from behind the shadows, then Allison’s head poked up above the bed of the truck. Her bare shoulders were tense and scrunched up halfway to her ears, her arms tightly folded over her chest.

“Hey, Ally,” Neil said. “You look cold.”

“You slimy little son of a bitch,” she hissed. “Give me the car keys, now.”

Neil snickered and dug the keys out of Matt’s pants. He tossed them over the truck to her and she vanished around the other side. He heard the passenger door open and some shuffling, but he didn’t look up.

Allison emerged wearing sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt Neil thought he remembered Seth wearing around the dorm. Her hair hung like seaweed in straggly tatters and she squeezed a towel around it, wringing out the worst of the water.

She jabbed a taloned finger at him. “That shows me for trying to be considerate,” she said. “I should’ve known better than to take my eyes off you.”

“Yeah, you should’ve,” Neil said. He nudged the pile of clothes with his toe. “Gonna go rescue the others now?”

She regarded the pile for a long moment, then shrugged and threw herself down in the nearest chair.

“They can walk,” she said, and grabbed a bag of marshmallows.

#thanks anon!#prompt fills #camping #aftg #tfc #andreil #the foxes #aftg fic #my writing #moonlight #i havent abandoned my prompt fills i promise i am just very slow #Anonymous

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maddiewritesstucky · 4 years

Text

Call me maybe (but only during business hours)

A smutty gift for @raynakiasbel, for her endless patience with my infuriatingly slow writing and inability to focus on one thing at a time!

Pairing: Steve/Bucky

Rating: Explicit

Wordcount: 3308

Tags: CEO Steve, College Student Bucky, Poorly-Timed Phone Sex, Anal Fingering, Masturbation, Dirty Talk, Light Daddy Kink, Dom/Sub Undertones

Part 1 of the SugarVerse series on Ao3

Bucky is most definitely not watching the clock.

His eyes have absolutely not been glued to the LED display on the bedside table for what feels like a hundred goddamn years, watching the little white lines form number after number, blinking their way into the formation that will mean he can pick up his phone, and call Steve.

That would be all kinds of pathetic, and Bucky is not that kind of boyfriend.

He’s certainly not the kind of boyfriend who’s already fixing to climb out of his skin on day three (three!) of Steve’s out-of-town business trip. Bucky is one of those autonomous, self-sufficient boyfriends, who is entirely too busy with his own obscenely full schedule to care about the fact that he’s not getting dicked down at his every whim this week.

He has midterms to study for, and hours to log at StarkTech to go towards his internship, and Nat’s surprise birthday party to plan even though she’s literally impossible to surprise…he doesn’t have the mental real estate to spare on thirst right now. He might have become a whole other kind of hoe since being exposed to the many splendors of Steve Rogers’ cock, but twitching for it before they’ve even hit the seventy-two hour mark?

That would be highly problematic, if that was happening.

Which it isn’t.

Bucky is well accustomed to flying solo when Steve’s off in corporate alter-ego mode; he’s done this countless times over the past few months since he moved in with Steve, and he’d made his peace with it long before that. You don’t couple up with the CEO of an internationally renowned architecture firm and expect to see his face at the dinner table every night, and for the most part, Bucky has no complaints about having the stupidly plush bed all to his starfishing self a few nights a month.

It’s just...there’s a method to this, usually. And that method does not involve three entire days of near radio silence.

When Steve goes away, even on his busier trips, he always finds time to call Bucky at least once a day, even if it’s just five minutes as he’s crawling into bed to say goodnight. They’ll text, and Steve will send emails that are endearingly formal because his brain tends to stay in CEO-mode 24/7 when he’s on business trips, and they’ll generally tide one another over with tidbits of cyber-affection until they get back in the same physical space.

But this time? They’ve hardly been in contact at all. And it’s on Bucky, too, at least in part - he’s been swamped with his own workload the past few weeks, struggling to find quality time or head space even in the few days just before Steve left, and all they’ve managed so far is a few sporadic messages in their rare moments of down-time, which have so far been chaotically misaligned.

It’s been a drag, if Bucky’s honest, and he can occupy himself all he wants with his exam prep and his party-plotting, but at the end of the day…

Bucky’s just a boy, laying in front of a clock, asking his dick to hold out just a few more minutes.

Because right now, it’s 10:42pm.

It’s 10:42pm, which means that in exactly three minutes, Steve will be sliding into the crisp white sheets of whatever lavish hotel bed he’s being put up in; buck-ass naked because he’s as stringent on his no-pyjamas policy as he is on his bed time, and in exactly three minutes…

Bucky’s gonna call him, and phone-fuck the soul right out of his offensively perfect body.

He flips onto his back and nestles into the pillows, a dumb grin already fixing to his face in his hormone-fuelled stupor. The lights of the city outside the floor-to-ceiling penthouse windows bathe his naked skin in soft orange-gold, and his hand migrates of its own accord to the semi he’s been rocking ever since it occurred to him that he could just straight up call Steve and spring a jerk-sesh on him.

The whole thing feels deliciously sneaky-skanky. He’s never done this before, just cold-called Steve with an x-rated agenda. They’ve had phone sex before, a great many times in fact, but there’s always a lead-in; a text exchange turned sordid that spirals into a video call straight out of Bucky’s horny teenage fantasies.

But he’s never gone in jizz-first, ask-questions-later, and as certain as he is that Steve will be entirely on board, it feels just risky enough to have Bucky a little high off the adrenaline of it.

Here lies Bucky, Queen of the Sluts! Stretched out bare atop cream colored sheets, lit up by the New York skyline! Dick in hand and filth on the tip of his tongue!

He is power! He is scandal! He is ready for this!

He pulls the lube out from its hiding place under the pillow and slicks himself up, stroking slow as he tries to summon some small measure of nonchalance about the whole thing. He has a vision for how he wants this to go, and it does not involve him losing his cool the second he hears Steve’s voice on the other end of the line.

This is about seduction, about surprising Steve with some old-school nasty, no video or visuals involved - just Bucky’s filthy mouth and vivid imagination, and he’s determined to keep it together long enough to paint Steve a picture he can jack it to.

He pulls up Steve’s contact and waits out the final torturous minute with his heart in his throat, hitting the call button the second it ticks over to go-time. He hits the speakerphone button, dropping the phone onto the pillow next to him, and holds his breath through the four rings it takes for Steve to pick up.

“...James?”

And oh, but that bodes well...Steve uses his real name in two contexts, and two contexts only - when Bucky visits him at work and he’s in business mode, and when he’s got Bucky flat on his back underneath him, letting him have it.

If Steve’s already keyed up tonight? This just got a lot more interesting.

“Mm, there it is,” Bucky heaves a deep sigh, “that’s what I needed, that voice...”

His mind’s eye conjures up visions of Steve spread out across the bed, taut lines of muscle and bare flesh all laid out. He’s probably just had a shower, so his skin would be all warm and pink, smelling like soap and aftershave; his hair all fluffy from that irreverent way he has of rubbing it towel-dry...god, Bucky misses him.

“James? Are you alright?”

He can practically hear Steve’s brows drawing together in that way they do when he’s overworked; a tight-wound tension in his voice that Bucky has every confidence he can allay before the night’s through.

“Mm, be a lot better if it was your hand wrapped around my cock right now,” Bucky drawls, rolling his body for his audience of no one, “but I guess I’ll just have to settle for fucking my fist to the sound of your voice. Can you hear me touching myself, Daddy?”

He breathes a soft groan as he strokes himself slick and languid, and Steve is silent for a long moment that Bucky’s brain is all too happy to color in with pornographic images of how Steve might be listening; where his hands might be wandering, how his cock would be filling at the mental picture Bucky’s painting. Bucky thinks this might just be the best idea he’s ever had, and he doesn’t hold back on letting Steve hear exactly how good he’s feeling about his decision...

...Until Steve clears his throat, and unceremoniously hits him with an ice-cold dousing of you-done-fucked-up.

“I’m in a meeting right now, I have two clients with me.”

There is zero inflection in his tone, and if Bucky thought he had experienced true panic before, he was mistaken. He can physically feel himself paling; his mouth dropping open soundlessly, humiliation warring with plain confusion as to why the hell Steve is still working at this ridiculous hour.

And then it clicks.

Horribly, harrowingly clicks.

Steve isn’t working at stupid o’clock at night.

In the perpetual haze of Bucky’s overworked brain and Steve’s ever-changing schedule, Bucky had forgotten that this trip was taking Steve to Hawaii.

For Steve, it isn’t slutty phone-sex hours. It’s very sensible, 4:45pm strictly-business hours.

“Ohmygod,” Bucky gasps, bolting upright and looking desperately around the room like it might hold the solution to his colossal screw up, “Steve, I completely forgot--”

“Mr Barnes, I can give you exactly two minutes of my time right now because I realize it’s been difficult to touch base recently,” Steve interrupts, his tone cooling abruptly with the air of professional detachment and veiled authority Bucky’s heard him use on work calls a thousand times. “Can you tell me exactly what the issue is with the redesign?”

...Bucky blinks, breath caught in his throat as he scrambles to string together some sense from Steve’s response.

Steve hasn’t mentioned any specific projects lately, is Bucky supposed to know something about a redesign? Was there something he--

Oh.

His brain and his dick catch on at the same time in a borderline painful rush of blood. He hears Steve pull back from the phone to address his clients, placating them with an apology and the assurance that this won’t take long, and Jesus Christ...Steve is actually doing this.

Steve is actually going to let this happen, going to let Bucky have one-sided phone sex with him while he sits there in some boardroom, with actual clients sitting right in front of him.

What the fuck.

Bucky’s breath leaves him in a rush as he drops back against the pillows and wraps a frantic hand around himself. “The issue is you’ve been gone three fucking days and I wanna sit on your face.”

“Mm, I see why that’s problematic,” Steve muses, cool and unaffected, “what exactly do you need from me?”

God, Bucky can just picture it - Steve sitting there looking like a fucking wet dream in one of his distractingly well-fitting suits, with his hair swept perfectly over and his beard trimmed just close enough to show off the sharp cut of his jaw; radiating that air of quiet authority that makes Bucky want to bounce in his lap until he dies...

Bucky knows for a fact that Steve’s face will be betraying precisely none of what’s happening on the other end of the line, and why the hell is that such a turn on?

“Well I was gonna describe in graphic detail all the things I want you to do to me when you get back,” Bucky huffs, breaths coming faster already, “but if I’m on the clock now, guess I’ll have to settle for sayin’ I need you to bring that dick home ASAP...fuckin’ miss it.”

“I see,” Steve sighs, “well I’m not back in New York for a few days yet, how do you plan to manage this in the interim?”

Bucky curses under his breath, tightening his grip on himself. “Just have to fuck myself, imagine it’s you.” He sounds every bit as unconvinced of the efficacy of this plan as they both know he is, and Steve hums thoughtfully in response.

“I’m going to need more detail, paint me a picture here.”

Bucky knows he’s blushing, feels the heat of it all the way down his chest, and fuck this shouldn’t be as hot as it is. Dirty talking at Steve and getting nothing back but clipped responses, void of emotion and the usual undercurrent of affection he’s become accustomed to?

Work-Steve needs to come to the bedroom more often.

“I’ll touch myself, like I’m doing right now,” he twists his grip a little on the upstroke, hissing at the change in sensation, “get my fist all wet and tight around my cock...pretend it’s your mouth.”

How close are Steve’s clients sitting to him? Steve wouldn’t be letting this happen if there was any way they could hear...but what if one of them has some kind of medical condition that gives them enhanced hearing? What if one of them can read minds and is hearing this entire conversation play out in stereo quality in their head?

Why is there a part of Bucky that hopes one or both of those things are true?!

“...And?” Steve prompts, almost brusque, and Bucky gives himself a second to revel in the way his dick twitches for the hard edge in Steve’s voice.

“And I’ll, fuck- ” Bucky stutters, rocking his hips with the rhythm of his strokes, pushing himself up through his grip, “I’ll use my toys, fingerfuck myself.”

“Right, well why don’t you go ahead and start that for me now,” Steve says, off-hand; pulling back from the phone to place an honest-to-god coffee order with the oblivious intern who’s now seemingly in the room too, and Bucky’s never felt more of an affinity for the whole bored-and-ignored thing.

He slicks up the fingers of his free hand and shifts a little onto his side, hiking a knee up as he slips a finger inside himself.

“Can I take that as a yes, Mr Barnes?” Steve asks at the breathy moan Bucky lets out as he presses in first with one, and then with two fingers, and Bucky nods frantically even though Steve can’t see him.

“Yes, fuck...I'm doin' it...feels so fucking good, Steve.”

And it does. It’s a difficult angle, and he can't quite hit the spot he wants to inside himself, but the steady stroke-tug against his rim while his fist flies over his cock is working for him; winding him towards what would, in any other non time-constrained circumstance, be an embarrassingly fast orgasm.

He can hear Steve shuffling papers, making quiet sounds of agreement along with whatever conversation is going on in the background between his clients whilst they wait, unknowing, and Bucky can’t decide whether it’s a blessing or an immense disappointment that Steve has to bite his tongue right now; that he can’t unleash any of the filth he’d definitely be spitting if he didn’t have an audience.

Steve fucking loves to run his mouth, and Bucky loves to hear it; lives for the endlessly colorful obscenities Steve comes out with in the throws of it.

Just listen to you, he’d be laughing a little; his voice dripping with that indulgent, self-satisfied grin he gets, so goddamn easy for it, ain’t that right baby? Three fuckin’ days and you’re gagging for it...should be ashamed of yourself…

But Steve is in a very public forum right now, in the middle of a meeting no less, trying to give the impression that he’s very decidedly not having phone sex. Right now, he’s Steve Rogers - CEO, consummate professional.

But he is also an asshole, and when he asks Bucky “do you feel you have a firm grasp on the situation, or would a second set of hands be helpful on this one?” Bucky swears he can hear that faint hint of a smirk all the way across the fucking country.

“Might just have to go find myself a second set of hands if you stay away too long,” Bucky retorts, emboldened by the distance, and a little morbidly curious to see what sassing gets him when Steve can’t say shit about it.

Turns out, what it gets him is a full-body shiver and a throb between his thighs as Steve’s tone dips to somewhere in the realm of politely-veiled threat. “I would not advise that, Mr Barnes.”

It occurs to Bucky, then, that this won’t just be done and dusted once they hang up. At the end of the week, Steve will come back to New York, and he will absolutely have some Things To Say about this little interruption.

He can picture it now, the way Steve will stand there all calm, staring him down with his mouth upticked at the corner while Bucky fumbles his way through an explanation.

He’ll probably do that thing where he doesn’t say much but his eyes say everything, and Bucky will have to try really hard to seem remorseful even though they’ll both know he’s not actually all that sorry. And Steve won’t want him to be, not really, but it’ll be something he can use to their mutual benefit, nonetheless.

Fuck, Steve might spank him.

Bucky smothers a moan into the pillow next to him, twisting his fingers inside himself and brushing his thumb across the head of his cock as he turns that thought over, Steve bending him over his knee, or better yet, over his desk...

“Oh,” Bucky gasps, a sudden rush of heat twisting tight in his gut, “fuck, I’m gonna come.”

Steve huffs a vaguely incredulous laugh, and there’s a faint creaking sound like he’s settling further back in his chair. “Oh really? Who authorized that?”

Bucky lets out a deeply undignified whine, his whole body strung tight enough to snap; caught between the sensations of his hand moving frantically over his dick and his fingers scissoring inside himself.

“Come on,” he whimpers, teetering on the knife edge of losing it, “tell me I can finish, please.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.”

Oh, fuck him, fuck him...how is he still edging Bucky when he was the one who put the rush order on this?

“Please, Daddy,” Bucky doesn’t try to hide the desperation in his voice as he changes tact, “if you don’t authorize this orgasm I think I’m gonna go blind, just fucking let me come!”

Steve pauses a beat, humming a considering sound. “No, I’m not comfortable signing off on that. We’re tabling this until I get back to New York.”

Bucky freezes, both hands stilling; his face crumbling into a mask of abject disbelief. “You can’t be serious?” His stomach drops, even as something in the back of his mind says he really should have seen this coming...or, not coming, as is the case.

“I'm sure we can come to a far more satisfying resolution in person,” Steve says, maddeningly cavalier.

Bucky’s gearing up to plead his case, but Steve’s not done ruining his night yet.

“In fact, Mr Barnes,” he piles on, “I’d like to make you personally responsible for ensuring no further action is taken on the matter until I return. Can I trust you with this?”

Bucky gapes down at his poor, oblivious cock still standing at eager attention in his grasp, unaware of the disaster that’s just befallen them, and he takes his hands off himself with a pained groan.

“This is criminal,” he objects, flopping heavily onto his back and throwing his arms out to his sides, “if my dick falls off, it’s your fault!”

“Great! Glad to hear it,” Steve chirps, as if he's not the worst person alive, “I’ll be in touch.”

“Whatever,” Bucky scowls at the shadows stretching across the ceiling, willing his mind off the throbbing ache of injustice between his thighs, “I’m totally not answering any of your calls.”

Steve’s smile bleeds into his tone a little when he responds, the closest he’s come to fondness yet. “Okay, speak soon, Mr Barnes.”

Bucky tries, really tries, to inject some petulance into his tone as he signs off with a grumbled “love you, I guess,” but he can’t quite bring himself to sulk as much as he feels the situation warrants.

After all, in exactly four days, Steve will come back to New York.

He’ll come home, and they’ll laugh about this, and in exactly four days…

Steve will make him forget what he was even upset about in the first place.

(Part 2 of the series here!)

#steve/bucky #Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes #steve x bucky #stucky fanfic #ao3 stucky #daddy steve rogers

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cali-holland · 4 years

Text

The Only Exception- Harrison Osterfield One Shot

Pairing: Harrison Osterfield X Reader

Prompt: Being in love with your best friend is hard, but it’s even more difficult when he doesn’t believe in love (College AU)

Word Count: 4400

Warnings: Swearing; drinking; making out?? Haz being a bit of a fuckboy??

Masterlist Harrison Osterfield Masterlist

*Gif is not mine*

~~~

Harrison didn’t believe in love. He didn’t fall in love. He did a lot of things, but he didn’t fall in love.

Unlike you, his best friend.

You believed in love. You fell in love. A lot. And when you were in love, you were madly passionate about him.

Unlike Harrison because he simply didn’t fall in love.

“C’mon, just this once.” You begged, trying to get him to watch your all-time favorite movie, The Princess Bride.

“No way.” He laughed, shaking his head.

“Why not? You veto all of my movies.” You pouted. Harrison sat down beside you on the sofa, a bowl of popcorn in his hands. You moved the blanket so that it was covering both of you and he set the bowl down in his lap.

“I hate rom coms. True love? It’s just bullshit.” He said before shoving a handful of popcorn in his mouth. It was the same argument every Thursday with him. For the past few years, you and Harrison would have regular movie nights on every Thursday night, and every Thursday (when it was your turn to choose) you would suggest a rom com. You only allowed him to veto the genre because you didn’t want him choosing any sort of horror movie.

“No, it’s not.” You shook your head, continuing to search Netflix for a good flick.

“It totally is. Look at you and Anthony. How long did that true love last?” He raised his eyebrows at you as he smirked.

“Eight months.” You grumbled. You turned to look at Harrison, “What about you and Lily?”

“Long term friends with benefits.” He corrected you. “We weren’t dating. We never even held hands.”

“Oh, right. Forgot about your ridiculous rules.” You rolled your eyes, looking back at the TV.

Harrison had three rules when it came to his “relationships”:

1. No holding hands because that’s “far too intimate”- you just liked to mock him for being scared of coodies.

2. No pet names because they create attachment. “Haz” was only acceptable in bed.

3. No cuddling because, again, it’s too intimate.

And you were the unspoken exception to all three of those rules, which was why you were technically cuddled up to him right now.

“They’re not ridiculous. They’re established boundaries.” He argued.

“Please, you only established those boundaries to keep yourself from falling in love.” You fired back.

“I like my rules, okay? They’re better than falling in love with every person that lays eyes on me.” He quipped.

“I do not.” You protested.

“Fourth rule. You can’t mock me for my lack of love life when you also don’t have a love life.” Harrison stated as he shoved some more popcorn in his mouth.

“You can’t involve me in your stupid rules.”

“Yes, I can. I just did.”

“Whatever.” You sighed, “How does ‘John Wick’ sound?”

“Completely unromantic, so I’ll take it.” He smiled, smugly. You shoved his shoulder as you started the movie.

“What are you doing Saturday?” You asked quietly. The movie played on in the background, but you weren’t paying much mind to it.

“Probably just going out.” Harrison shrugged. You knew exactly what that meant; he’d go out for drinks with Tom or any number of other friends and find some hot broad to hook up with for the night. “What’s up?’

“My sorority’s having a formal. Anthony was supposed to go with me, but,” You trailed off. You weren’t sure why you were so quiet about the subject; it’s not like Harrison hadn’t been your ‘date’ to events before. He was your prom date back in high school because your boyfriend had, of course, broken up with you just beforehand. Harrison stepped in to save the day like he always did; no matter which boy broke your heart, you always had Harrison by your side. He was the one who’d help you through a bad breakup- and you were the one who’d help him through a bad hangover.

“Do you want me to come?” He asked.

“Yes.” You admitted, “I just know everyone else has a date, but I don’t want to disrupt your boys’ night.”

“Of course I’ll go with you.” He replied with a soft smile. “I’ve got you.”

And so, just two days later, Harrison stood in his bedroom, unsure of which tie to wear for your formal. You had sent him a picture of your dress, but that wasn’t much help.

“You going somewhere?” Tom asked as Harrison came into the living room in his dress shirt and slacks.

“Which tie looks better?” Harrison held up the two ties by his neck.

“The one on the left.” He replied, still eyeing his roommate skeptically. Harrison tossed the back up tie on the couch and quickly began to tie the one Tom had chosen. “Where are you going? You don’t wear ties for dates.”

“Y/N’s got a formal.” He answered, looking in the mirror and checking his tie.

“Are you two dating yet?” Tom laughed from his spot on the sofa.

“Dating? No.” Harrison shook his head as if his friend had just said something blasphemous. “That’d be gross.”

“You’ve been friends for how long? You’re so into her, mate.”

“I’m not into her. Besides, I don’t do relationships and all Y/N does is relationships.”

“Have you ever thought that maybe you’re so afraid of commitment because you’re in love with your best friend, but you’re too scared to admit it?”

“Just because you’re seeing a psych major doesn’t mean you get to say shit like that. And I’m not in love with her!” Harrison shouted as he rushed back to his bedroom.

“Whipped.” Tom muttered. Harrison’s tie dilemma had set him back and now he was running late. He pulled on his shoes and grabbed his jacket, quickly putting it on. He checked his hair (and teeth) one last time in the mirror and sprayed one last thing of cologne before heading out the door.

“What took you so long?’ You huffed when he finally arrived at your place to pick you up.

“Couldn’t choose a tie.” Harrison explained as you reached over to straighten it.

“Well, I like this one. It brings out your eyes.” You said as he drove off towards the formal’s event center with a confident smile on his face.

~~~

A few weeks passed after your formal and Harrison found himself pondering on Tom’s words. Was his fear of commitment because he was into you? He refused to even consider the option that he was in love with you- that was ridiculous. Him being in love? With you? That’s the best joke he’s heard all year. Besides, there was no way you could possibly be in love with him.

“Haz? Harrison!” You snapped your fingers in front of his face, drawing him out of his deep thought- about you.

“Yeah?” He asked, blinking away his thoughts. His eyes hurt, but he was sure that was from pulling an all-night because here the two of you were, in the library’s 24-hour section, deep in midterm season. He removed his glasses to rub his eyes, groaning, “What’d I miss?”

“I was just asking if you had plans on Friday.” You said.

“I was going to go out. What’s up?”

“Well, my friend-”

“You’re not trying to set me up with anyone, are you?” Harrison peered at you questioningly.

“It’s just a double date.”

“A double what now?” He asked, not quite sure if he heard you right. He began to fiddle with the pages of his business textbook nervously.

“A double date.” You stated, “You know, a date where two people who like each other hang out alone, and it becomes a double date with a second couple there?” Harrison decided to ignore the fact that your description of a date was just the romantic version of anytime that he hangs out with you. “As I was saying, my friend, Maggie, knows this guy, and she wants to set me up with him. To avoid the whole awkward blind date thing because I hate that, Maggie suggested a double date.”

“So I’d be Maggie’s date?”

“Yes. You don’t have to actually be into her, but just- can you come along so I can just meet the other guy? He sounds like a great guy.” You pleaded, giving him your best puppy dog eyes.

“Y/N, you know I don’t-”

“Haz, please.” You pouted this time, putting your hands on top of his.

“Alright, but just for you.” He caved. “Yay!” You smiled as Harrison thought to himself ‘I could look at that smile for days’. He quickly shook those thoughts from his head, turning back to the book in front of him. He was absolutely not into you.

When Friday came around, Harrison told you he’d pick you up, just like for your formal. He stood in his bedroom, looking at himself shirtless in the mirror. He had three button-up shirts in his hands and he was trying to decide which one would look better on him. His room was trashed from him digging through his closet just to find the right jeans. He didn’t really go on double dates- in fact, he’s never been on one, so he didn’t know what he was expected to wear. He let out a sigh, looking over at his open door as Tom passed by his room with his eyes glued to his phone.

“Tom, come here for a second.” Harrison called out to him. Tom stood in the hallway, eyebrows raised at his friends’ condition. “I’ve narrowed it down to three shirts. Which one?”

“Middle one.” Tom replied almost immediately. Harrison had to admit, the other two were awful compared to the middle one, and he didn’t know why he had them as options. “Got a nice date?”

“Y/N wants to go on a double date.” He explained, pulling on the shirt and buttoning it up.

“You’re finally going on a date with her?” Tom asked in disbelief.

“No.” Harrison shook his head quickly. “Her friend is introducing her to this guy, and I’m going out with that friend tonight.”

“So you’re going to sit through Y/N being on a date?”

“I’ve done it before.”

“Yeah, but you’re always a grump about it the next day and you’re always hungover the next day.”

“I gotta go or else I’ll be late.” Harrison said, shaking off his roommate. With one last check in the mirror, he was ready to go and practically bounded out the door to his car.

“You’re looking sharp.” You stated, getting into the passenger seat of his car when he pulled up to your house.

“You look good.” Harrison replied once he had taken in your outfit of a simple floral dress.

“We’re going to that pizza place downtown.” You told him and he drove off, heading for your destination.

“So what’s Maggie like?” He asked.

“She’s a total sweetheart. I met her in my econ class last semester.” You said and he hummed in acknowledgement, “You don’t have to like her.”

“Depends on the beer at the pizza place, maybe I’ll like her a lot.” Harrison joked, making you playfully punch him in the shoulder.

“She’s nice.”

“I don’t like nice girls. That’s all I’m saying.” He shrugged with a chuckle.

“Don’t get drunk on this date, for me?” You pleaded, already knowing where his mind was headed.

“Fine, I won’t.” He shook his head with a smile as he pulled into the parking lot.

Once he had parked, the two of you made your way inside, where you met up with Maggie and your date, James. You and James clicked right away, meanwhile Maggie would try to strike up a conversation with Harrison, who would seemingly try his hardest to not interact with her. You would sometimes kick him under the table as a way to say “start flirting or else” and he’d take the hint for the next few minutes.

After you all had finished your pizza and a first round of drinks, James suggested you all go down to the pub for real drinks. Harrison drove you again over to the pub, giving you the opportunity to talk to him.

“Really? You’re not even going to try with Maggie?” You asked when the two of you were finally alone in his car.

“I’m not feeling it.” Harrison shrugged, trying to brush it off.

“I’ve seen you flirty off your ass with a fever, don’t bullshit me with the “not feeling it” excuse.” You stated.

“I just-“ he sighed, “I really am not feeling it.”

“Just try? At least talk to her. For me?” You turned on your best puppy dog eyes for him.

“Okay.” He grumbled, giving in to your pleas.

Harrison had told you he wouldn’t get drunk and that he would at least try to talk to Maggie. But once you all ended up at the pub, he wasn’t sure if he could keep his end of the deal. Harrison couldn’t describe it, the annoying urge in his gut to physically take on James for talking to you. He was so focused on you and James flirting up a storm across the high table that he could barely hear Maggie talk. You excused yourself to go use the bathroom, and when you returned to the table, Harrison was gone.

“Where’d Harrison go?” You asked, eyeing his empty seat.

“He, uh, said something about the bar.” Maggie replied. You looked over and saw Harrison downing a couple drinks as he talked to the girl beside him.

“I’m sorry about him.” You apologized, “I had a great time tonight, but I really should get him home.” You quickly left off to where Harrison was.

“What do you say, you wanna come back to my place?” Harrison asked the blonde in front of him, his signature smile as charming as ever.

“Harrison!” You exclaimed, smacking him on the arm with your purse.

“Hey!” He yelped, turning to see you. You could tell by the glazed look in his eyes, he was absolutely gone.

“Is this your girlfriend?” The blonde asked, stepping back from Harrison.

“What? No.” You replied and the girl left. Harrison took another shot as you took the blonde’s spot in front of him. Snapping your fingers in front of him, you tried to draw his attention back to you, “Hey, quit it.”

“No, let me drink.” He whined. Before he could take another shot, you took it from his hands.

“You’re done, let’s go.” You said, grabbing his hands and leading him out of the bar. Harrison leaned on you until you managed to get him in the passenger seat of his car. He let out another whine once you got him situated and then got into the driver’s side.

“I’m sorry I’m drunk.” Harrison offered weakly, though it came out mostly slurred.

“Yeah, yeah,” You muttered.

You were thankful he didn’t say anything else on the drive back to his place; you were too annoyed by his actions to even try to talk about it. You dragged him up to his room, trying to keep him quiet so as to not bother Tom.

“I’m sorry.” Harrison whined, flopping onto his bed.

“We’ll talk about it in the morning, okay?” You said, turning away from him to get some pajama pants out for him and a shirt for you to borrow. When you shifted to face him again, he was standing lopsidedly leaning against the wall, trying to kick off his jeans. His shirt was abandoned on the floor next to him.

“God, Haz.” You sighed, moving quickly to help him before he fell over. You had one hand on his bare chest to keep him steady while you used the other to push him back onto the bed. Once he was laying down with his legs hanging off the bed, you pulled his jeans off his legs fully, leaving him in just his boxers.

“I’ve always wanted this.” Harrison mumbled, resting a hand on your face.

“Wanted what? To get shit faced on a double date?” You asked, trying to get him to move so he was actually in bed. He just grabbed your wrists in his hands.

“You.” He gave you the best drunk smile he could muster.

“Haz, you’re drunk.” You said, shaking his hands from your wrists.

“I want you, want you.” He clarified through another tired slur. You shook your head, helping him get into the bed fully.

“Go to sleep, Harrison.”

“I think,” He breathed out, struggling to stay awake as his sleepy blue eyes found yours, “I think I lo-“ He cut himself off with a giggle. “I almost said it, but I didn’t! That would’ve been embarrassing.” He hiccuped, “What a rom com trope that would be.”

“Good night.” You told him, finally getting him under the covers. You changed into one of his shirts and crawled into his bed next to him. He was passed out by the time you’d gotten there. You let out a small sigh as you watched his sleeping form.

“I want you too, Haz.” You whispered before turning around and drifting off to sleep.

The next day, Harrison let out a loud groan as he woke up. He blindly stretched his arms, not wanting to open his eyes yet. He rolled over to reach out for you and he opened his eyes curiously when he found an empty spot beside him. His memory was a bit spotty from last night, but he knew he made it home with you, which meant you would’ve been there in his bed with him, just as you always were whenever you brought him home after a night out.

“Y/N?” Harrison mumbled, slowly sitting up and looking around his room for you. The only trace that you had been there was a glass of water with a couple Motrin pills on the bedside table. He gratefully took the pain reliever and then checked his phone, only to find no new notifications from you.

‘Hey, where you at?’ He texted you, hopeful for a response. He waited a few moments, and when you still hadn’t responded, he decided it was probably time for him to go take care of his morning problem, something which happened a lot when he’d go to sleep wasted with you beside him.

Harrison kept checking his phone throughout the day, but nothing. You weren’t replying to any of his concerned texts, and he wasn’t sure what to do about it. He’d call you, but he knows you hate getting phone calls, claiming that they’re too awkward.

And so, to distract himself from his thoughts of you, Harrison did what he did best on a Saturday night- he went out with his friends to get shit faced and find a hookup. But with each drink he took back, he just thought of you.

He wasn’t even that drunk when he found a girl to hookup with, but she was flirty and had eyes like yours, so how could he say no when she invited him back to her place.

“Haz,” She moaned out as he kissed down her neck.

“Don’t- don’t call me that.” Harrison breathed out, pushing her back onto her bed.

“Harrison’s too much,” She whined, her hands in his hair as she tried to bring him back to kiss him on the mouth.

“Call me Harrison.” He said before continuing to kiss her passionately. She moaned in compliance, her hands finding their way down to his jeans, skipping his shirt altogether. She didn’t even get the button undone when Harrison pulled away from her.

“Harrison,” The girl huffed at the loss of his touch.

“I can’t do this.” Harrison climbed off her.

“What do you mean?” She asked.

“You’re not her.” He shook his head before bolting out of her room and her apartment. Before Harrison could even process what he was doing, he ended up at your place.

Knocking on the door in an urgent manner, he was disappointed when your roommate opened the door.

“She’s not here.” Your roommate said.

“Where is she?” Harrison asked. He watched as your roommate paused for a moment to take in his current state. He shifted, realizing that maybe showing up slightly drunk at your doorstep with obvious hookup hair and swollen lips wasn’t the way to go.

“She’s studying at the library.” She replied.

“Thanks.” He nodded and hurried off to the library.

The whole journey over to the library, Harrison felt like he was losing his mind. Was he really about to go to confess his undying love for you like in some shitty rom com? Was he actually in love with you or was that the alcohol coursing through his veins?

He ran up the stairs of the library, already knowing where you’d be. He stopped when his eyes landed on you. You were sitting at your usual table, the table you always sat at with Harrison, but James was in his seat. And it was James making you throw your head back laughing. Harrison’s heart stopped at the scene.

As he hung his head low and began his walk back home, he knew why he didn’t fall in love. Because the heartbreak hurt too much.

~~~

The day after your double date, when you woke up in Harrison’s bed, he had his arms wrapped around you. It wasn’t the first time you’d stayed over in his bed, but it was the first time you’d woken up like that. You slowly moved yourself out of his embrace, not wanting to wake him. You gathered him some pain reliever and a glass of water, knowing he’d need it when he did eventually wake up. You let out a sigh when you set out this water and pills. He was so peaceful when he was asleep, and as attractive as he was when he was awake, his sleeping form was another level.

It was hard enough being in love with your best friend, but it was even harder when he didn’t believe in love. And somehow Harrison had managed to make it even harder by almost telling you he loved you when he was drunk last night. But he couldn’t have loved you, he was so adamantly against love; it just wasn’t Harrison.

You weren’t sure how much he’d remember when he woke up. You were scared to have that conversation with Harrison if he did remember what he said, or well what he almost said. You did what you’d never done before- you left.

All day, Harrison would text you, asking what happened and if you were alright, but you were at the library, trying to maintain your focus on your studies. Somehow, James had managed to find you in the library that evening. You offered him Harrison’s seat because, well, it was a Saturday night and you hadn’t spoken to Harrison all day- he was most likely off hooking up with a random girl.

But you almost wished you hadn’t invited James to sit with you. Sure, he made you laugh, but it wasn’t the same as with Harrison. You couldn’t focus on your studying with his not so subtle flirtatious jokes. After another small fit of laughter, you opened your eyes to see Harrison leaving the library. His back was to you and his shoulders were slumped in defeat. You sat on the edge of your seat; there was something wrong, he wouldn’t come here if everything was fine.

“Are you okay?” James asked, pulling you from your trance on where Harrison had once stood.

“I- I have to go.” You hurried to pack your things, shoving your notebooks and pens in your backpack carelessly. You ran off out of the library, chasing after Harrison.

“Haz!” You called out, running up to him under the moonlight. He jumped, turning around to face you.

“Y/N,” Harrison’s hands flew to your sides, steadying you as you stopped in front of him.

“What are you doing here?” You asked.

“I was just walking home. It’s nothing, go back to James.” He shook his head, trying to play it cool, but you noticed the tension in his voice.

“What are you really doing here?” You questioned again.

“There’s just-“ He sighed, “I want to tell you something.”

“Yes?”

Harrison sighed again, his fingers rubbing your waist nervously. When he realized what he was doing, he stepped back and dropped his hands from your sides. He looked anywhere, but in your eyes.

“Haz, you know you can tell me anything.” You said, reassuringly. Harrison took your hands in his, making you realize the gravity of what he so desperately needed to say- he was breaking another rule with you.

“I’m- I’m in,” He groaned, tripping over his words. You held back a soft smile, you’d never seen him like this. It took him another moment before he found his words and his blue eyes found yours.

“I’m in love with you, okay? I- I am so crazy about you and I love you. I love you.” Harrison repeated, nodding his head in affirmation, “I never believed in true love or any of that mushy shit, but you made me believe in that. You are the one that showed me love is real.” He paused, cringing a little, and you could tell he was still fighting the alcohol’s hold over him, “I’m not saying this just because I want to hook up with you. I mean I definitely want to, but I want to be your- your boyfriend first and foremost.” He tripped over his words as he said ‘boyfriend’ for the first time in ages when referring to himself, “Screw my stupid rules. I want to hold your hand, I want you to call me Haz whenever you want to, I want your cuddles, I just want you. You’re the only exception.” He paused when he realized you were quiet, “Please, say something. I feel like one of those guys in your romance mo-“ You cut him off by pressing a kiss to his lips.

“I love you too, Haz” You smiled, emphasizing the nickname, and Harrison just pulled you in for a longer, more passionate kiss. He let go of your hands and wrapped his arms around your waist, tugging you even closer to him.

He may not have believed in love before, but he certainly did now as he held you in his arms, kissing you underneath the moonlight.

You pulled away from kissing Harrison for a moment. “For the record, this is definitely a trope straight of a rom com.”

#harrison osterfield #harrison osterfield x you #harrison osterfield imagine #harrison osterfield x reader #harrison osterfield one shot #haz osterfield

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jubans · 4 years

Text

title: pinky promise pairing: chigasaki itaru/fem!reader rating: g (general) premise: promises were made to be kept, but damn did itaru have a sharp memory.

Back when you were still a kid, you had a peculiar friend.

Your fathers were best buddies in college and your mothers got along just as swimmingly as well. Whenever either couple would go out of town, the other would follow suit—both parties bringing along their young kids so they could bond with one another.

Itaru was a quiet boy. The first time you met him, he was like a hermit that couldn't be coaxed out of his shell. Eventually, you gave up on trying to get him to play house with you; retreating to the living room with a gaming console in hand. You've been wanting a Gameboy for a while now, and your father did love spoiling his little girl. While you were in the middle of catching your first Pokémon, however, you noticed that Itaru was watching you play over your shoulder, interest sparkling in his pretty eyes.

"Itaru-kun, do you play Pokémon?" you wondered, hoping he'd finally open up to you.

The young boy nodded timidly. "My Gameboy is in my backpack..."

And that's how you started growing closer than you'd initially expected. You challenged him in Pokémon battles every chance you got, but Itaru defeated you every single time. Something about IVs and EVs, he said. But you didn't really care about those. You just wanted the pretty looking Pokémon on your team.

In your usual outings with his family, Itaru would often play off-handed pranks on you—putting weird bugs he found behind your dress, spitting watermelon seeds at you, and even pushing you into a shallow part of a lake. But despite his outlandish behavior, you didn't cry about it like most girls your age would when a boy was being mean to them. You returned his mischief sevenfold in your own way, and that only made your parents think what a lively duo the both of you were.

But like most childhood friendships, it didn't last as long as you'd liked.

With your father having gotten an opportunity to work in America, that meant you had to move residences. The news was hard to take in at first. You grew up in Japan. All your friends were here! And what will happen to Itaru when you were no longer there to keep him in check? But, you've always been more understanding than most children. You accepted it faster than your parents had anticipated.

One day, you decided to tell your him about your sudden moving-away with a proposition that would ensure he wouldn't step out of line while you weren't around.

"We're going to get married someday, right Taruchi?"

Itaru blinked at you in nonplus, surprised by the strange nickname. "Taru...chi?"

"Itaru Chigasaki!" You giggled, clapping your hands together in unhinged glee. "It's my nickname for you, so no one else is allowed to call you that, 'kay?"

He spared you a small smile. Even at a young age, he already looked breathtaking. Eyes of carnelian and hair spun from almonds and vanilla—there was no reason for you not to crush on the boy who lived the next door over.

But then, he did something you've never seen anyone else do with you before. He held out his hand, holding up only his pinky, as he gazed at you expectantly. You craned your head to the side, not knowing how to react. Itaru laughed softly before taking your small hands in his own, manipulating your right hand's fingers so that you were doing the same gesture he was.

"We'll pinky promise on it," he said, entwining his stubby finger with yours. "It's a promise that we can never ever break. No matter what."

"You promise to marry me when I get back?" you asked, curling your own pinky as well.

He snickered. "I'd hate to be stuck with an old hag like you, but if you insist..."

"Hmph!" you simpered, folding your arms across your chest as you turned away from him. "I'm only eight, Taruchi!"

"You'll be eight-y when you return," he retaliated.

You spent the afternoon trying to beat Itaru in another Pokémon battle, but he came out victorious as usual. Just before you could start up another match, however, his mother told the two of you that they'll be attending an event hosted by the company she works for, and that you could come back and play tomorrow again.

"See you soon, old hag," Itaru imparted, waving a hand goodbye as you stuck out your tongue to blow a raspberry at him.

Stupid Taruchi. Why do I even like you?

"Mom, was it really necessary for me to fly back to Japan for this?" you groaned into your cellphone, asking the question for the hundredth time.

Your mother merely tutted at you from the other end of the line. "You know how much your father loved the MANKAI Company, sweetie. We even flew here a week early so he could take a peek at the final rehearsals."

"Yes, I know that part of the story," you sighed as you slowly unpacked your things from the single duffel you brought. "But why do I have to tag along? I had to find a substitute for all my classes this week, and I think the head professor will give me a piece of her mind when I get back to California."

"I'll have your father talk to her, then." The sound of her laughter was jeering in your ears. Why your mother had always been so carefree was a mystery to you. "Unwind a little, sweetie! I think you're going to want to see one of the new Spring Troupe's actors."

"What?" Your tone came out exasperated, but at the same time, your eyes were trained on the ample view of Veludo Way from your hotel room.

Your father used to be one of the members of the original Spring Troupe back when you were still a kid. Though he was one of the most academically proficient professors you knew today, he always had an unbridled passion for theatric arts. But with how swamped he's become with his work at the university you both teach in, him flying to Japan to watch amateurs stage a production was the last thing you think he would do.

Lost in thought, you didn't realize that your mother had been telling you something over the phone.

"Anyways, if you want to see him, I got us tickets for the closing night this Saturday." Your mother sounded disappointed for some reason. "The earlier showing dates sold out by the time we bought them."

You didn't even bother finding out who this so-called actor she was pertaining to, your mind too preoccupied with the lesson plans you forgot to leave to your substitute. With an exasperated groan, you pulled out your laptop from your luggage, booting it up. You loved your mother too much to point out that she could have just told you to fly over here at a later date so you could minimize your absences.

"Sure, Mom," you relented. "Do you want to grab some dinner later?"

"No way."

Eyes of carnelian. Hair spun from almonds and vanilla.

"No. Way." You had to physically look away from the stage to contemplate for a moment. Was that... Was that who you thought it was?

From your right, your father spared you a sideways glance, confusion painting his features. "Hm? Something the matter?"

It's him. The boy with the pretty eyes and the smile that masked his mischief. Itaru. Taruchi.

"I-It's nothing, Dad," you reassured, forcing yourself to train your eyes on the scene playing before you. "I just remembered I haven't started formatting my midterm exam yet."

"Oh, don't fret about work here," he chuckled, gaze trained fondly on the stage. "Plays are where the actors give it their all to put a smile on people's faces. I've always wanted to see you up on stage, but what kind of father would I be if I imposed something you didn't want?"

His words made you relax back into your seat, watching as Itaru's character, Tybalt, conversed with one of the leads on-stage. He delivered his lines so naturally, like the character was moulded to fit him in particular. He looked so...different now, too. Itaru had lost the fat in his cheeks—angular cheekbones taking its place instead. His voice was set into a much deeper tone, given that he was probably in his mid-twenties, just like yourself. Who knew a gamer shut-in like himself would pursue theater, of all things?

"It's nice to see good old Chigasaki's son up there, though." Your father smiled. "That kid was almost like a son to me."

The scenes breezed past before your eyes, each one leaving you at the edge of your seat. Their twist on Romeo and Juliet was comical, to say the least. But each time Itaru stepped under the spotlights, you noticed the strain in his movements. Whenever he had to walk to the opposite side of the stage, his steps came off a bit wobbly. This was a critical scene where Romeo and Tybalt were going to duel to the death, too.

When you spared your father a wary look, the set in his brow told you that there was definitely something up.

"Boy's got a sprain," he concluded. "Goodness. He should've known better than to perform with that dead weight dragging him around."

You frowned. "Then Taruchi, I mean, Itaru should—"

"Tybalt, stop! The battle's over!"

Romeo's little ad-lib caught the attention of the audience, no one daring to draw a breath to see how things played out.

"Lower your blade!" he shouted, voice carrying the emotion in his eyes.

Even Itaru was taken aback by Romeo's resolve. His mouth twitched into a smirk that reminded you of the days he would show you the stag beetles he's caught over the summer to freak you out. You haven't even said two words to him fifteen years later, but somehow, you knew that he hadn't changed. Not one bit.

"(Surname)-san, hello!"

A woman that seemed right about your age greeted your father with a shake of hands once the two of you arrived backstage. Your mother had insisted that she would wait for the two of you at the parking lot as you gave your congratulations to the actors. So here you were, standing awkwardly behind your father as he animatedly conversed with the said woman, who seemed to be the director of the show.

"Kid, as much as I'd like to tell you about your dad, it isn't my place to tell," your father chuckled.

She sighed. "Ah, that's what Yuzo-san told me, too..."

"Say, this is quite out of the blue, but my daughter here wants to have a word with one of your actors. Itaru, to be precise."

Wait, what?

"Oh, sure!" The director nodded, twisting the knob to the dressing room behind her before you could even protest. "Itaru-san, someone wants to talk to you!"

"Oho? Itaru-san has stans?"

"Fans. But you're not too far off, huh, Citron?"

"Wah! Itaru-san is so popular!"

"Tch. As long as it's not her, I won't complain..."

The sound of cheerful laughter hit your ears, and the next thing you knew, he emerged from the doorway—still in costume without a single hair out of place. Itaru grew up to look like one of the princes in the fairytales your mother used to read to you, and it grated on your nerves more than it should. How could the kid with the most rotten attitude you've seen be blessed with a growth spurt like this?!

Too busy wallowing in your own frustration, it took you a moment to register the utter shock on Itaru's face once his vibrant eyes landed on your father. But when his gaze shifted to you, his lips parted in muted surprise before spreading into a disbelieving smile.

"So you finally thought about coming back, huh, old hag?"

Before you could even think, you seized the collar of his costume with your fist, familiar irritation festering in your chest faster than you could blink. "It's the first time we meet in fifteen years and that's your opening line?"

Itaru hollered loudly at your aggression, but the gesture didn't even faze him one bit. Maybe it was because he stood about a few inches taller than you now. Nonetheless, he held your hands in his own—holy shit they were smooth—before prying off your hard grip on his clothes.

"Ah, Izumi!" your father called out to the director. "I want to discuss something about the MANKAI Company and how I might be able to pitch in. Itaru-kun, you can keep her occupied for the time being, right?"

"What? Dad, don't leave me with hi—"

"She's in my care," Itaru spoke over you, a gloved hand going up to ruffle your hair.

As you watched your father and the director disappear right down the corridor, you gulped when you felt Itaru's piercing gaze on you. Turning around, you saw that his lips were still affixed with a condescending smirk, like he had some dirt on you that you didn't know about. Slowly, you backed away from him, but the hallway was cramped and you ended up with you in between the wall and the man in front of you.

"So," he began before he braced his palms on either side of the wall, trapping you in place. How could someone who had the regal air of a prince look at you like a wolf in sheep's clothing?

You felt your heart racing hummingbird-fast in your chest, breath hitching when he leaned in to ask:

"When's the wedding?"

#a3!#a3 #act! addict! actors!#act addict actors #a3 headcanons #a3 fanfiction #chigasaki itaru #itaru #itaru chigasaki #itaru x reader #a3 x reader #fluff #itaru fic

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nostalgic-pancakes · 3 years

Text

Watching the starlings as autumn draws in

Summary: Tommy and his friends try on some skirts, and he reflects a bit on how they all got here. (It's a happy story) Title from September by Sparky Deathcap

Pairings: None! Platonic everyone (esp in irl fics_)

Read on AO3 (preferred place to read)

Word count: 2570

Warnings: None, except for surface-level references to the exile/prison arcs, but not much.

Other notes: I wrote this in a fit of madness last night in like three hours at 2 am, so i’ll probably edit it honestly but for now, enjoy! (If the CC’s ever display discomfort with this type of fic I will take it down)

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"WELCOME BACK TO THE STREAM, BOYS!" Tommy exclaims, rubbing his hands together as he starts rapid-fire answering questions about the stream, and the stream title from chat. It's funny, how over time, Tommy's come to see Chat as this one entity- an old friend. The nervousness of answering questions as a fifteen year old with nothing but a big personality, a twitch account and a copy of Minecraft is all but gone now, nineteen years old and happier than he's ever been.

Dreadfulzombie19: what are u doin this stream

"THANK YOU FOR ASKING, Dreadfulzombie19, today is gonna be a bit different, innit Tubbo?" Tommy raises his voice a bit at the end of his sentence, just loud enough for one of his flatmates to hear him. When Tubbo yells back an affirmative, Tommy turns back to his setup. Chat's gone a bit wild again, even though he, Tubbo and Ranboo have been living together for over a year now.

"Okay, okay, calm down chat- so recently I was at university, as usual right? And I had an eight AM class again, and… yeah I can see you all can relate."

"BUT! BUT! On my way back to the flat, I saw something really cool." Tommy hesitates in his speech to take a sip of coke again- his blood pressure's been acting up lately and watches Chat to wild again, asking him what he saw.

"Okay, so there was a shop- new place, which doesn't happen often this is fucking Brighton- and they sold skirts and dresses and stuff with adjustments for AMAB sizes!" Chat goes a bit bonkers, but Tommy's mod team- a little smaller than it used to be, now that he isn't the centre of YouTube or Twitch attention anymore, none of them are- are handling it, and pretty well.

"So I had to go, right? As many of you probably know, last year, I made the astounding discovery that gender-based stereotypes and expectations are, in fact, fake and I should not give a SHIT. And so I go in and look through the stuff- it's a really poggers shop by the way, and I find the perfect thing- it was the most poggers skirts and shit, okay? So, today's stream is going to have me wearing this pogchamp shit and wearing it right, with the help of…" Tommy ends his monologue by picking up the joke shaker-things that Phil had gotten him as a housewarming gift last year and indicates for his first two helpers to enter the office.

In walks his mother, face obscured from view as always, waving to the camera, and Wilbur, also wearing one of his only skirts for this occasion. Eret had taught him, on a phonecall in the skirt shop that week about the different types of skirts with a handy diagram. Wilbur's was a pleated circle skirt, brown to offset the bright yellow of his sweater and beanie, the same colour as his hair. It's very swoosh-y, so he's wearing black leggings with his regular shoes too. Motherinnit's also wearing her favourite skirt, a baby blue prairie skirt, Tommy thinks, and it's one he's seen fairly often.

Wilbur ducks down in order to show his face to Chat, and ruffles Tommy's hair while he's at it. Tommy's taller, but not by much, so Wilbur still fucking makes short jokes, That fucker.

Chat is now going so fast that he simply cannot read anything but some of the all caps messages and can barely make out some of the emotes.

"Okay, OKAY, CALM DOWN CHAT! WE HAVE TO GET TO FUCKING BUSINESS!" Tommy yells into the mix, like he did when he was sixteen and used the 'many people find me annoying at first' intro. Nowadays he just lets the content speak for itself. Anyone who wants to be here already is, by now.

Wilbur laughs a bit, and that hasn't changed at all. "Tommy, how is chat supposed to calm down if you're not calm?"

"I am their god!! They will obey via sheer digital willpower!" Tommy replies back, pretty zealously (What? An English Literature class is mandatory for his film degree, and The Great Gatsby by Zelda Fitzgerald is a good book, as are most of the other assigned ones. He's had entire conversations with Techno with just lit quotes and it drives everyone insane. Tommy loves it.) Chat seemingly has listened to his godlike abilities, with a few OG's spotting his half-quotation of one of Dream's last lines in the Dream SMP. The rest are spamming 'MOTHERINNIT'.

"If having a shitty magic trick book from a washed-up politician makes you a god, then what does that make me?" Wilbur replies, with one of Foolish's lines and swatting his hand at Tommy. Tommy swats back.

"Bitch" "Arsehole" "Shithead" "Fuckface" Wilbur finishes cheerily, as if this happens all the time. It does. Chat's used their antics now, four years of consistently making content together will do that for you.

Eventually Motherinnit reminds them both to get back on Topic, and Tommy goes back to facing the camera, addressing Chat directly.

"Today, my beloved mother, and my idiot brother-" "hey!" "And maybe my flatmates will be joining me to show off some cool as SHIT skirts! And a dress or two. We all have our selections, right?" Everyone nods in affirmative, even Tubbo and Ranboo. Though the camera can't see them. Ranboo's just come home from his final class, then. He should probably take the first hour back off, and judging by how Tubbo is forcefully judging Ranboo to the shower, he probably gets it. Tommy signs an affirmative to both of them, and gets back to the camera, where Wilbur's showing off all of his (very poggers) very stupid brown or yellow skirts. Tommy's are in cool colours, for fuck's sake.

"Oh yeah, Puffy just confirmed she'll be on stream! She'll be here in about twenty minutes, accounting for fucking traffic, and Niki' going to get onto VC after her own stream, what game is it this time?"

"GRIS." Wilbur answers.

"Poggers- she is the SHIT and will join us soon! So expect some QUALITY QUALITY content this stream!! Remember to not spam her chat to finish faster." Exclaims Tommy, even if it ends up as a light warning, as he picks up his own very poggers skirts from the extra armchair in his office to show the camera.

One is the classic red and white, mostly white but with bright red on the waist (elastic) and the bottom, and it reached to about Tommy's knee, if worn at the hip. It had no pleats, but the red bits were a very nice velvet texture, and while the skirt was heavy, it still had very much swoosh value, and pockets!! Big ones!! He slips the skirt on top of his jeans before entering camera view, the skirt visible in all its classic Tommyinnit glory, as he takes his place right next to Wilbur, who just took. a quick spin at the behest of several dono's., Skirt spying out from his lower shins all the way to his knee, making visible one of his (many) petticoats. ("What? It's cold all the fucking time here, Toms.") Tommy also makes a quick little spin, skirt flying outward, not upward, so it looks like he's hula hooping for a moment there. Lastly, Motherinnit spins around too, and while her skirts do not swoosh, she looks opulent, like she was about to go to waltz with the enemy, for whom she has a dagger in the back of her dress for. (He finished Anna Karenina and the Six of Crows duology within the same week and has not yet recovered. Jack Edwards is laughing at him as he thinks in his English Lit Graduate glory.)

It's fun, trying on different skirts- he and Wilbur accidentally bought the same dress at one point, which they paired up to wear, darting off into their respective changing rooms while giggling like idiots with their checkered blouses and the grindl skirts that Niki had sent over when she heard of this stream idea, laughing the whole time. Tubbo enters as dramatically as possible with Puffy, and while Tubbo looks really fucking good in his handkerchief skirt with embroidered bees and plain white shirt, it's Puffy who steals the show with an exact, real life version of her red banquet dress.

Fans from way back in the SMP, before Tommy had started branching out start going insane and are bringing back emotes Tommy wasn't sure were still available, but she is fucking stunning- deep shades of red and crimson, with slits on either side of her waist and all the detailing. She'd gotten the contact for her dressmaker through Bernadette Banner, Tommy recalls- she was so fucking cool when she streamed with him once, and gotten him to swear less and supplant those world's with bigger ones to intimidate instead. While he still curses like a sailor as part of his persona, it's less so and he does way less in real life these days, unless the situation calls for it. It's also just rude, especially in uni libraries, where he spends too much time these days wondering why he didn't read more as a kid.

Puffy's stolen his audience for a WHILE, and Niki coming on hasn't helped any, so Tommy exits camera view for a while to hug Ranboo really quickly- he's had midterms and has basically been dying all month.

Everyone on this stream- Tommy, Wilbur, Motherinnit, Tubbo, Puffy, Niki and Ranboo enter the camera frame after entering their dressing rooms for the last time on this particular stream, Puffy with full in-character wigs and makeup, Tommy in an Edwardian-Gothic reminiscent black and red dress, Ranboo in something he bought when he gap-yeared in Japan, punk lolita or something, Niki flaunting her pink in a Marie Antoinette style show of finery, Tubbo dressing in all green this time, something like a very deranged biology teacher who hasn't slept in days (Tubbo hasn't-Tommy has to get into that), Wilbur like a forest-nymph, all earthy tones and swishy fabrics and nature highlights, and finally Motherinnit, who hasn't changed but is here to take pictures as they all lean in together to fit into frame, as drastic as their height difference is. Niki is going to be edited in later, and everyone on the 'Dream SMP but nobody does Dream SMP and we're all fucking nerds' discord server is going to get a copy.

The stream wraps up there, after about two hours, and it's only about six in the evening- a far cry from the late nights and long hours from the beginning of Tommy's career, so everyone runs to their changing areas for the last time, into pajamas now, and packs away all of the clothes they wore, properly, as to not incense Karolina Zebrowska, and Jemma, Dan's wife, who would look at them disappointedly and nobody wants a sad Jemma because that means no cooing at their son. Also it just feels shitty.

Everyone huddles in Tommy, Tubbo and Ranboo's living room, and they out on UP for like, the millionth fucking time (they still cry when Ellie dies), and Tommy is leaning into Wilbur's side and feeling his mum play with the hair in his very small, stubby ponytail he's developed by being in Uni as he and Tubbo intertwine their legs together and Ranboo rests his head in the tangle of limbs, playing with his fidget cube. Puffy stays on Wilbur's side, intently texting someone and smiling the whole while, and Tommy takes a moment to reflect (something he's been getting better at doing) on how the actual hell they all got here.

The Dream SMP was always going to end- everyone knew it, if course, they were the fucking writers. But by the time they did, not only were their respective brands too closely intertwined to just… sever that quickly, but they'd become too close to even want to. So the SMP discord never shut, even though Dream and George had planned it months ago, and they continued supporting each other with their interests. Wilbur made a lot more music solo, with his band and even just random ass streams where he practiced guitar for an hour. He kept playing Minecraft, but it wasn't his main focus. A bunch of people left. More stayed. YouTube left him alone.

Dream, George and Sapnap are still Minecraft streamers, but their YouTube channels are mostly blogs of them being poor excuses of adults with other former SMP members joining in sometimes. Tommy and the Dream Team were closer than ever, even though the seeds of their friendship had been sowed when they used to linger after heavy streams together, reassuring each other that none of that was true and that nothing like… that would happen in real life, because Dream had used real abuse tactics, and those still hurt unless immediately taken care of. So they were. It was a running joke that Dream was stuck at 99 million subscribers since nobody really wanted the face reveal anymore. The other Dream team members were doing peachy.

Phil and Techno were also still primarily Minecraft streamers, but they also released things like advice videos and mental health stuff, especially for relationships. They had a new scripted series where Tommy was a minor character. The dadza jokes were still as real, and yes, outside of streaming, both of them were lovely people and responsible adults (mostly). They collaborated with DanTDM and co a lot more now.

Puffy and Niki kept doing games, but did lots of different ones, testing point and clickers to triple A titles, and making it all fucking hilarious while they were at it.

So where had that left Tommy?

After the Dream SMP, he'd kind of had no idea what to do, and he was going to University for the first time, so he just… did whatever he thought would be fun. He learned about vintage fashion from the queens themselves- Mina Le, Bernadette Banner and Karolina Zebrowska and had fun learning how to sew for the first time, fixing and making his own clothes for the first time, clunky as they were, Wilbur had cried, genuinely, when he saw the Lovejoy shirts that Tommy had made for the band. He'd found a genuine love for literature in university, so Tommy started talking to booktubers and studytubers like Jack Edwards and Noelle Stevenson. Tubbo and Ranboo had joined him, fucking around in any YouTube niche they found even remotely interesting. Eventually, they all found a happy medium- a bit of everything.

Some people obviously weren't happy with that but Tommy was happy as he was, making what he liked with his best friend's, living together close enough to most of their friends (family) to have fun and drop in on one another at ass-o-clock in the morning to comfort, to laugh. His sub count hasn't gone up in a while- most of his audience is static, with about 80-90k online on a stream at any time.p

It was a nice feeling, to have carved out a space for himself and the people he loves, and be is so, so glad that he got this chance.

Looking at his mostly asleep family, Tommy thinks 'yeah. Life is good.' as the last thought before he sleeps.

#dream smp #mcyt #irl fic #tommyinnit #wilbur soot #tubbo #nihachu #ranboo #vee's writing #2021

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stardustkenobi · 5 years

Text

Compromise

Poe Dameron x Reader

Warnings: F l u f f, 1:00 am hastily written fic

A/N: Hiii everyone! I’m sticking with writing Poe for now until requests come in because idk it feels really comfortable atm. Thank you for reading :)

Saturday halfway through the semester typically meant a day spent in bed, surrounded by books, laptop open for hours on end, eyes blinking back the symptoms of strain.

Poe never really understood how you could get yourself so bogged down in your reading for classes- an aeronautical engineering major himself, his was used to problem sets, skimming notes found in the speaker’s notes section of the slides his professors posted, using his hands in mechanics labs. The whole “burying your head in James Joyce for seven hours and then start doing your work” thing? Not his speed. That was definitely not how Poe got through undergrad.

“I really will never understand how this could make anyone happy.” He grunted as he flipped from his spot on his stomach to lay on his back, now facing your stoic face rather than the phone he had been staring at for the better part of your morning.

You shrugged him away, practically putting your hand in his face as your free hand scribbled in the book on your lap, marking some sort of motif because of something your professor said during lecture because of some reading that you had done the week prior that sent you reeling because you had missed it and how the hell could you have missed that motif of all of the ones to miss-

Poe’s insistent grumbling had turned into full on whining, pulling you out of your thoughts. You knew part of it was his own selfish desire to be the center of your attention- he’d had a long week too and was looking forward to a Saturday spent in bed with his best girl, doing absolutely nothing. And the other part? It was his little way of pleading with you to take a break for your own sake. Trying to get you to laugh. Break your eyes away from the pages that English majors have been reading for decades.

You might as well have been reading that stupid book in your hands for decades in Poe’s eyes.

“Poe!” You snapped as moments later, Jane Eyre was being flung haphazardly to the ground of your room. Sense and Sensibility followed, along with a book on literary criticism and another about writing essays for literature. Your laptop finally joined, with much more time and care afforded to it than your poor books. “What the hell do-"

He was pinning you down to the mattress before you could get out another word, knocking the breath from your lungs. “This is an intervention.” He shrugged, pinning your wrists over your head.

“I’m not in the mood.” You quipped, eyebrows raising as you assumed his intentions were any but innocent as he sat on your stomach, holding you down as his face hovered over yours.

“Well I’m really not in the mood to argue so listen up, pretty girl.” He growled, tone teasing and always caring. “You.” He said, kissing your nose. “Are.” A kiss to your left cheek. “Going.” Another to your right cheek. “Take.” Forehead. “A.” Chin. “Breaaaak.” And finally, one feather light kiss pressed to the corner of your lips.

You tried to buck him off, getting frustrated. “Poe. Dameron. It’s midterms- I know you’ve been away from this for a few months now but I think you can remember how stressful a time-“

Poe rolled his eyes, pulling back slightly. “I do. And I know what my girlfriend’s like- the girl who forgets to drink water and will let her eyes stay open for 32 hours straight just to write a response that still could have been A+ work if she had taken breaks to, oh I don’t know, sleep and eat and maybe take a shower?”

Your nose scrunched in dismay as you bit your lip, considering his words. “But I need to keep reading...” You finally whispered, swallowing the lump in your throat as you glanced away. “That book was supposed to be done Wednesday- my first draft of my paper is due Monday morning. I’m not even close to being finished with reading it, let alone annotating it.”

Now, Poe knew the semester had been getting to you. You were never one to hold back when he asked how things were shaping up- Poe was always more than willing to listen and provide solutions, what did you gain by hiding it? His eyes did widen at your admission, not having realized the full extent of how the heavier course load you had taken was affecting you. He sat silent for a minute or two, thinking of his options. Of your options. He wasn’t going to let you get yourself sick from not taking care of yourself, but he also knew that you’d make yourself sick worrying if he forced you to relax.

Suddenly, he was scrambling off of you, leaving the room. You frowned, tears now pricking at your eyes. “Poe.” You called out weakly, gripping the duvet beneath you as you sat alone, afraid you had upset him.

Three minutes passed and he was returning to the room, a water bottle, a protein bar, and an apple in his hands. Tossing the apple on the bed gently, he leaned down and scooped up Jane Eyre as he strode toward you, purpose in his eyes. The bed dipped as he sat down, putting the other three objects down next to the apple before shimmying up the the headboard, then effortlessly scooping his silent girlfriend into his lap. He placed the food and water in your lap, giving you a knowing glance, then took the book in his hands.

He cracked the spine before skimming through to find where your last note was while you watched in disbelief. His left hand was soon reaching over to the night stand, snatching his glasses up and placing them on the bridge of his nose.

“No sooner did I see that his attention was riveted on them, and that I might gaze without being observed, than my eyes were drawn involuntarily to his face,” He began to read, voice even and controlled as one hand came to rest on your thigh, tracing slow patterns. “I could not keep their lids under control: they would rise, and the iris would fix on him.”

Taking the hint, you tore at the wrapper of the protein bar in your lap. You listened with rapt attention, watching Poe’s eyes and lips as he read to you, hand never leaving your thigh as he attempted to soothe you. As he read, you leaned over, taking the notepad from the nightstand and a pen from its draw, chewing thoughtfully as you started to make notes.

Whether it was the water and food you soon inhaled or the sound of a voice that was just meant to read books and poems and speeches to others you couldn’t say, but the words made sense. Much more sense than they had in your head before and your notes flowed with ease.

Poe may not have understood what the appeal of having your nose in a book some person with a stuffy title was forcing you to read for all of a Saturday afternoon might have been, but his girl in his lap about to snuggle up to him after a snack was something he’d do anything to have.

#Poe Dameron #Poe Dameron imagine #Poe Dameron x reader #Poe x reader #star wars

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kasu-meow · 4 years

Text

⭐SE Headcanons - The girls and Scholar at a sleepover party

Hey anon! I’m flattered you thought of me for this, but I actually don’t really take requests, usually. It’s mostly because I’m not sure I could keep up and write every request in a satisfying way, in a short amount of time. I still wrote your request this time though, and I hope you like it :) under the cut because I went a little overboard and it’s about 3500 words.

Ellie:

When Ellie invited you to her sleepover party, she could barely contain her excitement

She was jumping left and right, saying how it would be the most amazing sleepover ever, and the most wicked hangout you’d ever been to

You had no idea what to expect, and prepared yourself for the worst

And you were right to, because as soon as you stepped in her room you were met with absolute chaos

There were only about three or four people, but the combination of yelling and running made your head hurt a little

It was a wonder how the custodians hadn’t caught them yet

You were gaping at the front door without really daring to enter, when Ellie spotted you and dragged you inside

“Scholar, you came!!! What are you doing just standing there? Come in, we’re gonna prank Tegan when he comes back from the bathroom!”

You didn’t have the time to understand what was happening, someone was already shoving you behind the bed as Tyler and Ellie spilled fake blood (and knives) everywhere

As soon as they heard steps, Ellie hid in the closet and Tyler ducked in an angle behind the door, phone already in hand

“Holy sh…”

Tegan made his way to the center of the room and looked at the puddles of blood, clearly confused, as Ellie jumped out of the closet and pretended to fall down on the floor like a corpse

Tegan’s scream echoed throughout the dorms, and Tyler and Ellie couldn’t help but burst out laughing

“I hate you guys” was all Tegan could say

Still pretty confused, you came out of your hiding spot and finally greeted everyone

“Sorry for dragging you into that all of a sudden! But you came at the worst moment ahahah!”

Ellie had approached you, still unable to stay still, and flashed you one of her bright smiles

“S’okay ahah I was just confused, is all. Hey, awesome PJs by the way!”

You had failed to notice it in the confusion before, but Ellie was wearing a Jolteon onesie, Tegan an Umbreon one and Tyler a Flareon one

“Thanks, yours aren’t bad either! Next sleepover, you HAVE to match with us! What’s your favorite Eeveelution?”

The party continued as Ellie tried to assign you your “official Eeveelution,” till you heard footsteps in the hallway

Everyone quietened down, but the footsteps stopped right in front of the door and someone knocked

“Are we expecting someone else?”

“Sssh, be quiet”

“Ms. Collins,” another knock “it’s the custodian. Please open the door.”

“Shoot! Everybody hide!”

You scrambled to hide under the bed as Tegan turned the TV on and Tyler and Ellie cleaned up, almost as if they’d rehearsed this

A second later, Ellie opened the door

“Ms. Collins, you are making a lot of noise, and we’ve received reports of several students who say they heard someone scream in your room.” The custodian said as he looked inside

“Ah, sorry about that! I was just watching a horror movie” Ellie said as she gestured towards the tv, “I promise I’ll keep it down.”

“Very well…” replied the custodian, not fully convinced.

He glanced at Ellie one last time, then made his way back

Ellie closed the door and after waiting a few seconds, everyone came out

“That was close! Had he decided to come in and check, we would’ve been toast!” Tyler said, almost bumping his head crawling out from under the desk

You tried your best to honor your promise to keep it down for the rest of the evening, and soon enough it was time for bed

You were deciding on sleeping arrangements, when Ellie approached you

“Wanna sleep in my bed, Scholar?”

You blushed at the suggestion, but before you could reply, Ellie was already speaking again

“We don’t have enough mattresses so someone has to sleep with me..”

You felt a little stupid for misunderstanding, but you still chuckled and tried to play it off

“Uh, sure! I already had to hide there twice tonight, might as well.”

Ellie giggled as she ducked under the cover, patting the mattress as an invitation

You gladly complied and slid under the covers too, you couldn’t help but feel giddy as you faced Ellie’s smiling face

“You’re a lifesaver, Scholar. If you had said no, I would’ve had to ask one of TnT and I figured you’re much cuter, so I’d rather spoon with you~”

A small blush made its way to her face despite her trying to sound smooth, and if made your face feel hotter, too.

“Smooth” was all you could reply as you shily broke eye contact and moved closer to Ellie

“’Night, Scholar~”

You tried to close your eyes, but with the butterflies you were feeling in your stomach, you weren’t sure you would be getting much sleep that night

“’Night, Ellie…”

Karolina:

Karol is the type of person who doesn’t get along with most people, but keeps her valuable connections very close

She has an image to uphold, and she would rather die than be seen with people who could damage said image

So saying that you were surprised when she invited you to her exclusive sleepover party was an understatement

You thought it might be a prank and she would ridicule you as soon as you entered her room, but you knew Karolina was better than that

You fidgeted for days trying to make up your mind, and you decided you should probably go

Because after being invited by Karolina herself, ditching the sleepover seemed like condemning yourself to your own death

You packed your best PJs, got everything you might have needed and even prepared a snack to bring over, and you made your way to the model’s room

Neha greeted you at the door, and Karol only sent you a glance as an acknowledgment of your presence

You settled down in a small spot near the side of the room, and looked around to see who else Karolina had deemed worthy of her presence

You weren’t surprised to see it was mostly other famous models, designers and businesspeople

You tried to blend in and make some conversation, but you were finding it hard to relate to most of those people

You wondered what you were doing there for the hundredth time that night

You took another look around the room: Neha was busy exchanging sketchbooks with other designers, talking about ideas and giving tips here and there, but Karolina was alone, elegantly sitting with her back against her bed in her red nightgown, sipping on her drink, looking effortlessly mesmerizing

You made your way to where she was sitting, and quietly sat down next to her, subtly sneaking a few glances her way

“If you want something, you should stop looking at me every five seconds and just say it.”

Okay, maybe not so subtly

“I was just wondering why you invited me. I thought you didn’t like me.”

Karolina briefly looked at you, then shifted her gaze to her drink, then back at you. She seemed uncertain, a look she rarely sported, when she softly answered

“I don’t…”

You knew that already, it was something she had made clear plenty of times, so why was she acting so precious about it now?

“…dislike you.”

Oh.

Your heart skipped several beats, and you weren’t quite sure how to reply to that. Karolina didn’t dislike you? Did that mean she-

“Hold it right there. I can see every single thought that’s going through that little brain of yours; I didn’t say I liked you, I just said your presence doesn’t make me want to throw up. That’s all.”

Eh, good enough. You’d take what you could get. But right now, you had something very important to do: tease the hell out of Karolina.

“I think you liiiiiike me~ Karolina, you big softie! I didn’t know you felt that way!”

“Wha- don’t call me that! That’s it, I knew I shouldn’t have invited you! What are those, pajamas? Disgusting.”

She shot you a horrified look, but you could make out a small patch of red making its way to her cheeks

You smiled to yourself, hiding your own blush

You felt like an idiot for falling for Karolina, you thought she hated your guts and a relationship with her looked impossible even in your dreams

However, that night, you definitely made a step in the right way. It’s not like she professed her undying love for you, but at least now, you had a small chance

And that was enough to make your heart flutter

Neha:

Midterms were drawing closer and closer, but you still felt insecure about some subjects, especially the ones that had never been your strong suit

You and Neha were talking and exchanging notes during lunch when you two came up with the idea of having a sleepover to cram before midterms

Neha offered to have it in her room

You were a little worried about Karolina, but Neha said it would be fine

You decided against inviting many people, considering it wasn’t even your room, and only asked Claire if she wanted to come

The night of the sleepover, you grabbed your books, notes, and some snacks and headed over

Neha opened the door, already in her silk golden nightgown, and greeted you with a soft smile

You made eye contact with Karolina as you were going in, and she shot you a glare

It was obvious she wasn’t enthusiastic at the idea of you being in her room, hanging out with her best friend, but she trusted Neha enough not to object

You were all very diligent for a while, but as everyone got sleepy, the focus started to shift from studying to other things

“Neha~ are those drawings on the closet all yours?”

You recognized the girl who asked as one of the members of the student council

She was snacking and looking through them, while completely ignoring the math problem you were all trying to solve

“Uhm, yes, Anne, but the homework-”

“Wow, Neha! Do you have more drawings we could see?”

Neha looked embarrassed about being the center of attention all of a sudden, but she still pulled out some sketchbooks to show her guests

“I guess it can’t hurt to take a break…”

As the girls fawned over Neha’s designs, even Karolina, who had been mostly indifferent the entire evening, joined the conversation to praise her friend

She even pulled out the department competition’s dress from her closet and showed it to the rest of the girls, proud of how talented her best friend was

Neha, however, was sitting outside of the little group, observing the conversation from the outside

You decided to go sit next to her, for a chance to be let in her inner thoughts

“Whatcha thinking about, Neha?”

“Oh… nothing much, I just… don’t really know what to say in these situations. When everyone’s complimenting me like this. Other than thanks, of course.”

You hummed pensively

It was true that Neha was well-known, despite her business still being fairly new, but you were under the impression that Karolina usually captivated everyone, so Neha might still not have been used to people noticing her designs rather than the model in them

You smiled at her, and let some of your feelings spill out

“Well, I love your designs too, and I think you’re very talented and you deserve all the praise. Even Bersace singled you out during the department competition. You are special Neha, and more and more people are starting to realize that.”

She looked at you, a mix of surprised and flattered

You were starting to worry that you might have overstepped or said something weird, but you were met with one of Neha’s warm smiles

“Thank you, Scholar. I’m happy, really. It means a lot for me, sharing my designs with the world, and the fact that people like them. That you like them.”

You returned her smile, with a fuzzy feeling in your chest

Feeling a surge of bravery, you took her hand in yours and gave it a little squeeze in encouragement

To your surprise, she didn’t reject you, she squeezed back and looked you in the eyes

She got up after a moment, straightening her skirt and tidying up the table where you’d been studying

“Alright,” she declared “break’s over. Who wants some coffee? We still have a lot of subjects to tackle.”

You smiled as the others groaned, and Anne dramatically threw herself on a bed, but you decided to get to work

You went to help Neha with the coffee, while Claire and Karolina decided on the next subjects to revise

You had a long night ahead of you

Claire:

Claire approached you outside of science class to invite you to a small get together she had been planning

She said she had been thinking of doing something for her friends after the Nakano incident, to take everyone’s minds off it

It was apparently Raquel who suggested they plan a sleepover to relax and recharge before diving back into their regular packed schedules, and Claire was more than happy to plan something for her close friends to have fun together

Claire always managed to warm your heart; how could you refuse?

You were excited at the idea of spending time with the local angel and your other close friends, and you even made cookies to bring to the party

Granted, they weren’t the best cookies out there, but they were made with love and that’s what mattered, right?

…Right?

The night of the party, you packed everything you needed in a small bag, and put your cookies in a special wrap, hoping it’d make them more appealing

You knew you had nothing to worry about, this is Claire we’re talking about, but still… you wanted to make something nice

…And maybe impress her a little bit

You changed into your PJs and made your way to Claire’s door, making sure no one saw you

You quickly ducked into the room, and were greeted by a smiling Claire

She was wearing simple light blue pajamas, but she looked unbelievably cute to you

You were a blushing and stuttering mess as you handed her the cookies you’d made, her overjoyed eyes almost melting you on the spot

“Scholar, you didn’t have to bring anything! That was so nice of you to make something, though. These will be great with the tea Neha and I are going to make.”

You looked over to the Indian girl, and you saw her plug in a portable stove

There were a large variety of tea bags, flavors scattered on a table next to some pots

Everyone picked a flavor following Neha’s and Claire’s recommendations, and soon enough, you found yourself with your own cup in hands

While waiting for the hot liquid to cool down a bit, you let your eyes wander towards the blonde girl who’d been monopolizing your thoughts lately

Claire was putting down her cup after blowing on it a little, to turn and make eye contact with you

She smiled at you and got up, as your heart leaped in your chest

“I almost forgot! Scholar was kind enough to bake us cookies. I’ll put them in a plate here on the table, so help yourselves if you feel hungry.”

As she put the plate down, several people scooched closer to grab some of your cookies, and you saw Claire take some herself

You grew incredibly self-conscious as she took a bite, and you decided that staring at your mug was better than following Claire’s every move like a creep

You shoved some of the cookies in your mouth to keep yourself occupied, and you looked up in surprise

Huh. They weren’t quite as terrible as you remembered

In a moment of bravery, you decided to approach Claire

“Hey Claire…”

“Scholar, hi! Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Ah, yes! Everyone’s really nice, and the tea’s so good. And, uh… did you like the cookies I brought…?”

You looked away in embarrassment; it wasn’t like you to fish for compliments, but you genuinely valued Claire’s opinion and wanted to make sure she didn’t hate them

“I loved them! You are a great cook, Scholar.”

“Oh, thank God! I thought they didn’t come out well, to be honest…”

“Are you joking? They are good, Scholar! Besides, you made them, so I’d have loved them regardless…”

“Oh?”

You looked at Claire, who bit her lip, eyes widening in realization

“I-I meant! I always love everything you do, and…”

Blushing like mad, Claire quickly got up

“I’m going to go prepare the mattresses!”

You followed her with your eyes, your face feeling hotter and hotter as you recalled her words

Love…

You let yourself bask in the idea of your feelings possibly being reciprocated, before you started drinking your tea again

Was it the sweet, honey-like flavor you were tasting that was making your heart warm, or was it the sight of a clumsy blonde scrambling to take out the mattresses, trying to hide her blushing face?

You took another sip to calm your nerves, before you got up and went to help her

Raquel:

You were pretty nervous at the idea of spending the night with your crush, but knowing Raquel, you went in there thinking she invited lots of people and it wouldn’t be intimate at all

You were wrong

There were five or six people tops, excluding you

You thought maybe the others hadn’t arrived yet, but when Claire warmly greeted you at the door, she said you were the last person they were expecting

“You made it, Scholar!”

Raquel greeted you with a grin, putting her arm around your shoulder

She was wearing a tank top and shorts

While you did imagine that she might wear something like this for bed, it didn’t prepare you for how hot she actually looked

You tried to regain your composure while you were putting down your stuff, and you thankfully succeeded

You looked around the room once again, and you spotted a couple girls from the soccer team, and other students from the Athletics’ Department

You were so concentrated on people watching though, that you didn’t notice Raquel sitting down next to you

She gave you the scare of a lifetime

“Oops, sorry Scholar ahah! What were you thinking about so hard?”

“I was just trying to recognize everyone, I’m a little surprised you didn’t invite the whole soccer team.”

“I actually did, y’know? But some of them had assignments and stuff.”

“Oh.”

You were admittedly a little tense; you weren’t expecting such an intimate situation with your crush and it got you flustered

So your brain may or may not have been forming sentences the way it normally did

“You know Scholar, I was thinking… now’s the perfect chance for you to take up on my offer?”

“Your offer?”

“To get physical~”

You turned your head so fast that you almost hurt yourself, your eyes widening and your heart beating way too fast for your own good

But before you could say anything (not that you would’ve been able to, with how dry your throat was) you were smacked with a pillow, right on your face

As you blinked, trying to understand what just happened, you started to make out Raquel’s triumphant expression

“PILLOW FIGHT!!!” A girl, who you recognized as one of Raquel’s teammates, yelled out after witnessing Raquel’s vicious attack

The battle was intense and harrowing; friendships ended and alliances were born, some people were so scarred they could never recover from the trauma

You and Claire had built a small pillow fort to protect yourselves from the Athletics’ Department students gone feral

As you were about to enter though, Claire got caught in the fire between a basketball girl and a tennis girl

“Why is this happening?! I don’t want to hit anyone!”

“Nooooo, Claire!” You screamed, you had to go save her!

“Ssssh, let her go, Scholar… she’s gone now…”

You turned around to find out that Raquel had crashed your fort and was now hiding with you

“You… you traitor! First me, and now Claire…” you pretended to be upset, it’s at times like these that you regretted not being able to channel fake tears

“Pff, you are a terrible actress, Scholar.” She replied “But I’m sorry for attacking you earlier, really. It’s just that you looked so nervous, y’know? I want you to have fun tonight.”

Your heart skipped a beat after being reminded of the situation you were in earlier, and Raquel’s offer to get physical

Although it turned out, it wasn’t the physical you were thinking of

“You don’t have to be nervous, Scholar. It’s just me.”

Yeah, it was just Raquel

But you smiled at her, ignoring the butterflies, and you hid together in your castle while the outside world went in ruins

This would’ve been hella romantic, you thought, if it wasn’t just a pillow fight

#sweet elite #se headcanons #sweet elite headcanons #se karolina #se ellie #se claire #se neha #se raquel #karolina novakova #ellie collins #claire durand #neha rao #raquel pereira-camargo #with the special appearance of.... anne!#if you are in the SE discord you know what i'm talking about #man looking at the whole thing like this... i definitely went overboard holy moly #i'm not too confident about my writing when it comes to some of the girls but i hope you like it!

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kjmhj0429995486 · 4 years

Note

Perhaps a small winwin and kun college au?

okay this took me forever to get around to oops! hahahha this is honestly way too many words for nothing to really happen but I had fun writing it. would love to maybe continue this eventually!

tinder!au i guess??

kun despised the idea of dating apps. absolutely hated it. he always criticized the vanity and impermanence of meeting people online and stood by his ground that you could only find the perfect match in person. when kun created a tinder account under the influence of a few drinks and some very resilient friends on a friday night in, he still hated dating apps, but he’d admit now that maybe he was being a little early to judge.

kun wasn’t like his friends. ten lived for nights out and meeting new people and kissing boys he’d only just met. in a similar vein, lucas was always in a relationship, whether it being a fling that lasts a few weeks before he gets bored or one of his longer, more emotional engagements, kun has never known the man without someone on his arm. but kun was different. since they started college over three years ago now, he’d only kissed a handful of boys, maybe a girl or two in the beginning, and he’d only been in two relationships, both pretty long term relative to his friends. with the last one ending nearly a year ago, he couldn’t help but feel a little lonely; however, it wasn’t until the alcohol settled into his veins as he listened to stories of his friends’ most recent passionate endeavors during their guys’ night that he expressed this to anyone else.

“oh my god and then afterwards, he literally just, left me there. on the couch, naked. he didn’t even leave a blanket for me,” ten was a few shots in, speaking dramatically and drawing the most genuine reactions from his tipsy bestfriends as he spoke. “but oh my GOD did I even care after what that man had just done to me.”

kun never understood the hookup culture that his friends subscribed to, but he was happy for them; and they knew that, even if his snide remarks came off a little judgy. “i really can’t believe the situations you get yourself into sometimes,” kun laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. “like you really can’t tell me it was worth getting treated that way to have sex with someone you’ll never see again.”

“kun,” ten began, placing his hands on kun’s shoulders and looking him in the eye, feigning as much seriousness as he could muster in his current state. “you really really need to get laid already,” this made kun immediately roll his eyes and laugh softly in ten’s face. “actually you don’t even have to fuck him right away, but like you could really use a cute boy in your life, man,” he ended with a slight seriousness that hit home more than he would’ve expected. kun knew exactly why ten was saying what he was saying. obvious to his friends, he’d been really stressed lately with midterms and club activities and whatever else he managed to find to keep himself busy enough to not have time to worry about how he felt so incomplete; about how much better all the stressful things in his life would be if someone else was there to experience them with him.

“wait wait wait,” lucas intergected, his normal deep voice even more boisterous with the drinks in his system. “you should make a tinder.”

at this, ten’s eyes widened and he immediately perked up with the biggest smile on his face.

“absolutely not.” kun intended to shut this conversation down before the boys got any stupid ideas in their heads. he was a little late.

“kun pleaseeeee?” ten begged with full on puppy dog eyes. “you never know, the love of your life might be on there right now.”

kun pulled away from the grip ten still had on his shoulders and raised his eyebrows at his friends in an attempt to get his seriousness through their heads. “no way. you guys know how i feel about dating apps. i will happily wait a thousand years for the right man to meet me face to face if that’s what it takes.”

lucas was not convinced. “dude you haven’t had a boyfriend in months. literally all you do when you’re not with us is study. obviously that’s not making you any progress soulmate wise so like.. what’s the harm in giving it a go?”

neither was ten. “exactly. kun you deserve to find someone, you really do. worst case scenario you go on a couple of bad dates and we have something to laugh about, best case scenario you find someone you think you can fall in love with,” kun softens, just a bit, at the sincerity of ten’s words. for a second that is. “and yeah most of them suck but i promise there’s some high quality, top notch men on there if you look hard enough. trust me, i’ve found a couple myself,” he adds with a quick wink. when kun’s scowl returns to his face ten reverts to his previous tactic: puppy dog eyes. “pleassssse kun. you know we really just want the best for you.”

kun sighs, rolling his eyes begrudgingly at his defeat. “i can’t believe i’m saying this out loud but i guess i have been kind of lonely lately,” he begins, catching his friends’ hopeful attention. “not in like a sad kind of way but maybe in a ‘this would be better with someone else’ kind of way.”

that was enough for lucas to grab kun’s phone from its place on the coffee table and download the app before kun even had time to protest.

“awww he’s kinda cute.” ten said, clicking to view the full profile of a boy just a year younger than kun.

“he’s holding a dead fish.”

“you know what they say, the bigger the dead fish the bigger his...”

“literally no one has ever said that.”

“ugh fine. next.”

kun went to bed that night disappointed about to his expectations, if not a little more.

it wasn’t until three days later when kun was laying in bed after a busy school day that he even remembered he had downloaded the stupid app a few nights prior. after a brief battle between his strong opinions towards the dumb application sitting almost mockingly on his home screen and his skeptical curiosity, he unlocked his phone and opened the neglected app, the latter obviously winning out.

kun spent a few minutes swiping. he clicked each individual profile to get as solid of a read as he could on each guy before making his decision with a careful consideration, something he had definitely never seen either of friends apply to their tinder boy sprees. left. left. left. kun was growing ever more frustrated, none of the boys striking a chord with him. perhaps he was being a bit harsh with his standards but he really truly felt that he couldn’t see himself in a relationship with any of these men. left. left. left again. and that’s when he stopped. almost instinctively swiping on the next boy before a picture loaded before his eyes that made him rethink every criticism he had ever given his friends or their dumb app. this one was cute. more than cute. kun never really understood what the phrase “boyish charm” meant, but he knew this boy had it. he was beautiful in such an understated way. not aggressively attractive by conventional standards, but gorgeous and delicate and handsome in a way that kun thinks he could stare at for hours.

with a breath of fresh air, kun finally swiped right. he felt a brief wave of something akin to panic, or maybe excitement, wash over him when a screen he had yet to see appeared. “it’s a match! sicheng likes you too,” the screen read. kun couldn’t help the small smile that appeared on his face for a split second before he forced it into a scowl, unhappy that he had fallen into the trap of these dumb apps. soon after, kun put his phone down and went to bed. he hated the lingering curiosity about the boy that he knew nothing about, but let himself indulge in his own imagination for just a little while before falling asleep to the thought of having someone to call his.

the next day was busy for kun. between his four classes and studying for his upcoming midterms, he hadn’t even had a second to consider swiping mindlessly through tinder or messaging the single boy he had deemed worthy of his swipe. that was, until he was sat outside the dining hall, letting himself enjoy a few free minutes to eat dinner with ten and lucas. amidst lucas’ downward spiral into the stress of his classes and how much work he has to do, kun’s phone buzzes. he doesn’t want to be as distracted as he is from his friends’ problems by the notification his phone lights up with, but he can’t seem to fight the curiosity of what the tiny words that read “sicheng sent you a new message.” would reveal. kun decides to wait until he can give his full attention to the weird little crush that’s already begun brewing on the total stranger living in his phone. he locks his phone and puts it in his pocket before returning his attention to the people in his life he knows are actually real.

back in his dorm, kun immediately flops onto his bed. he scrolls aimlessly through twitter and instagram before finally landing back where he was last night. knowing that he has a ton of studying to do before bed, he clicks on the messages tab and indulges himself, maybe for a little longer than he means to.

kun: hmmm maybe if i deem you worthy

sicheng: and how do i obtain your approval oh great magician?

kun: well for starters

kun: you’re really cute so that gets your foot in the door

sicheng: 😳

kun: but it’s gonna take a little more than that unfortunately

sicheng: i can dance

sicheng: does that help?

sicheng: ooh and i have a dog

sicheng: but he lives with my parents :(

sicheng: or i can show you my anime figurine collection it’s pretty impressive

kun: haha honestly?

kun: i think you just might be worthy of two magic tricks😂

sicheng: you mean to tell me you know more than one magic trick????

sicheng: wait

sicheng: are you a wizard?

kun: not last i checked

kun: but i guess you’ll be happy to know that i actually know like

kun: 10 magic tricks

sicheng: whaaaaaat

sicheng: lol what point in your life did you not have any friends?

kun: middle school😔

kun: but it’s okay i came out stronger

sicheng: so now you have friends AND know magic?

sicheng: AND you’re hot??

sicheng: sounds kinda op to me

kun: well i’d say all of those are only kind of true

sicheng: i’m still impressed

kun: thank you

sicheng: ✌︎('ω'✌︎ )

kun absolutely hated the stupid smile that wouldn’t leave has face as he read back the boy’s replies. but, as he continued to slowly learn bits and pieces of the boy that didn’t exist to him until last night through conversation that came way more easily than he ever would’ve imagined, kun decides that maybe something special really could come from this after all.

#thank you for the request omg #winkun #winwin #dong sicheng #qian kun #kun #wayv #wayv drabbles #wayvfic #nct #tinder!au #me #college!au

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hrina · 6 years

Text

French Fries and Feelings

PAIRING: Harry/Y/N RATING: R bitches! WORD COUNT: 3.5k REQUESTED: nope, i was just feelin inspired!

this took me roughly four hours to churn out, and i wrote it while i was supposed to be studying for midterms. are my priorities fucked? yes. do i regret it? no.

anyway, i’m SUPER proud of this one-shot and i rly hope yall like it! if u do, please don’t hesitate to give me feedback, it means the world! also, gentle reminder to REBLOG THE FICS YOU LIKE!!! it’s the only way for us writers to get our work out there. i love yall, take care, and happy reading!! xo

~*~

"Harry!" You knock four times on the door with a loose fist. "Open up, I know you're in there!"

There's a muffled bang from inside the apartment, and then he's indeed there, swinging open the door and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. In your inebriated state, you're painfully aware of the fact that he's only wearing a pair of grey sweatpants, his feet and chest bare. His dark tattoos are on display, seeming to shift and flutter against his skin as he steps forward and is met with the bright light of the hallway.

"'Course I'm here," Harry growls, squinting tiredly. "It’s two in the fuckin' morning, love. Couldn't this wait?"

"No," you say stubbornly, and then you're holding up the small, red carton in your hand. "Nick and I stopped for some munchies, but the McDonald's we were at said that they ran out of salt. Can you believe that? Fucking salt!"

"The nerve."

"I know!" you flip your hair over your shoulder, wobbling a bit in the heels that are just a bit too tall for you. You should have known to bring an extra pair of flats, but the purse slung over your body is too small, and you had wanted to look good; it had been a while since you joined your friends for a night out.

"Not to be rude," Harry starts, burying his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. "But what does waking me up at two in the bloody morning have to do with your shitty food?"

"I need to salt them, don't I?" You say, lifting one eyebrow theatrically. Harry's lips part in surprise, and you're hit with the sudden urge to just lurch forward and cover his mouth with your own. His eyes are puffy, and his cheeks are rosy, and he looks so soft, even though you know that his biceps—when flexed—could rival the size of your head.

"You’re here 'cause you need to salt your chips?" Harry echoes, and you nod enthusiastically. He shakes his head and chuckles. "That's so fucking stupid."

"Fuck you!" you protest. "I like salty stuff!"

Immediately, you regret your sentence, and you want to curl into a drunk, embarrassed ball when Harry smirks darkly. He leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest, and you cover your face with your free hand (mostly to hide your humiliation, but also because it's the only way that you'll be able to keep yourself from ogling him).

"You gonna let me in, or what?" you pout, your words a bit muffled from behind your palm. Harry just releases an exasperated chuckle, stepping to the side and gesturing for you to come in. You peek through your fingers and stagger forward, and he flips on the light so that you can make out your way down the hall.

"Should probably take off your shoes," he tells you. "One step away from twisting an ankle, you are."

"Don't tell me what to do," you mutter, but you still bend down, reaching for the clasp of your heels. You shriek when you nearly lose your balance, and a few of the fries in your hand spill onto the floor.

“Shit,” Harry says, instinctively placing his hands on your waist to steady you. Your eyelids flutter shut for only a moment when you register the heat of his palms, but then you reach forward and press your forearm against the wall of his front entrance to keep yourself from falling.

“Sorry,” you moan solemnly and hang your head, as though you’re mourning the fries you’ve lost.

Harry chuckles, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll clean it in the morning.”

You nod, still fumbling with the strap of your shoes and whining in frustration, your fingers clumsy and uncoordinated in your current state. Harry sighs, squeezing your sides to get your attention. You peer up at him and he tilts his chin downward before saying, “Sit down, yeah? I’ll get them off.”

“I’ll get you off,” you grumble, mildly upset that he seems to think that you can’t even remove your footwear. Only a moment later do you truly process your words, and then you’re gasping, whipping your head around and covering your face once more.

Harry cackles, the sound raspy and deep. You groan, completely mortified yet again. Harry bites his lip to keep his smile from splitting across his face, sniffling slightly as he watches you with twinkling eyes.

“Maybe later,” he says, winking playfully. “Came here for only one thing, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” you choke out. “Salt.”

Harry nods; he’s trying to act serious, but he’s doing a terrible job. “That’s right. Salt.”

You teeter backward, stopping only once you feel the wall hit your shoulders. With a quiet grunt, you slide down the surface, ending up on the floor with your legs extended in front of you. Harry smiles softly, kneeling down in front of you and coaxing your foot into his lap. You stay silent as he unclasps the strap of your heel from around your ankle, his large hands surprisingly gentle as he pulls it off. He removes the other shoe just as effortlessly, and you moan appreciatively and flex your toes, happy to be rid of the awful footwear.

“Better?”

“Yeah.” You pause before adding, “Marry me, please.”

Harry laughs again.

~*~

Once you’ve finally gotten the salt in your grasp, Harry needs to physically pull it away after seeing how much you dump into the carton of fries. “Oi!” he yelps, his long fingers circling around your wrist. You whine in protest when he pries the shaker from your grip, but he just shakes his head disbelievingly.

“Gonna give yourself a heart attack,” he huffs out.

You pout, and he reaches up, flicking your protruding bottom lip with his thumb. A shiver runs down your spine at the contact, and you suddenly realize how close he’s standing. His hip is pressed against the side of your knee, and you have to fight the urge to shift from where you’re sat on the counter and to eliminate what little space is left.

Harry seems to notice at the same time, setting the salt down next to the sink and peering up at you intensely. It’s usually quite easy for you to read him—all you have to do is meet his gaze. He’s always been good at controlling the other features of his face, but his eyes…his eyes reveal everything. They’ve shown you every emotion that he’s harboured: joy, sadness, anger, disgust. If the eyes really are a window to the soul, then Harry truly has bared himself to you—has let you strip down all his layers to reach the very essence of who he is.

But this…

You’ve never seen him like this.

His pupils have dilated, leaving only a thin ring of green to circle the black. You would usually attribute this look to that of anger, but something is off. When he’s angry, his gaze is shallow, like he’s closed himself off from all further interactions. This is different—it appears as though his stare is never-ending, like he’s opening himself up to more. It’s penetrating, it’s incessant, and it’s searing. It ignites every cell in your body and sets you aflame.

“Want a fry?” you ask, and then the moment is gone. You hold out the red carton as the words scrape against the roof of your mouth, and Harry’s eyes reflexively fall to your hand. He blinks a few times before nodding slightly.

“Just one,” he concedes, before flashing you a wicked grin. “Gotta reward myself for doing some late-night charity work.”

You gasp, shoving at his bare shoulder before he can pluck a fry out of the cardboard container. “You dick!”

“I’m joking!” Harry laughs, holding up his arms to shield himself from any further blows. “Christ, woman!”

“Take it back,” you order sulkily. “You know I’m an emotional drunk.”

“Fine,” Harry smiles; his eyes are tender when they meet yours. “I take it back, yeah? You’re wonderful.”

You sniffle. “Thank you.”

Harry watches as you set down your fries and hold out your arms, evidently waiting for him to step into your embrace. He grins and places a firm hand on your knee, angling it to the side so that he has enough room to slot himself in between your legs and wrap his arms around your midsection. You sigh contentedly, hooking your chin onto his shoulder as he buries his face in your neck. The two of you stay like that for a little while, and your body relaxes a bit more as each second draws out slowly.

“H?” you say.

He hums, gearing up to pull away, but you only squeeze him tighter. “No, no, stay there. You’re warm.”

He’s warm, yes, but you refrain from telling him that it’ll also be much easier for you to speak if he’s not staring into your soul with those fucking eyes.

“Alright,” he chuckles. “What is it, then?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, biting your lip fiercely before letting the words tumble out. “I didn’t come here for just one thing.”

“What do you mean?” Harry’s breath tickles your collarbones.

“Like—,” you silently curse yourself for not being articulate enough, “I needed the salt, yeah, because those fries tasted like complete shit without it—,” Harry’s body rumbles with a quiet snicker, “—but also…I wanted to see you, y’know?”

You’re staring up at the ceiling now, praying that he can’t feel the wild thumping of your heart. He’s silent, completely still against you, and you know that if he doesn’t speak up soon, you’re going to cry. There’s already a hot pinch behind your eyes, and your throat has closed up, leaving you with no other choice but to wait for the tears.

And then you feel it.

It’s soft at first—so soft that you think you’d imagined it. But then it happens again, a bit firmer this time, a bit damper, and your breathing stutters to a stop.

“Is this okay?” Harry rasps. The deep quality of his voice makes you shudder.

You nod against his shoulder before realizing that he can’t see you, and so you whisper out a quiet yet firm, “Yes.”

That’s all the permission he needs, then, and he continues, littering soft kisses along the skin of your neck. Your body melts into his, and you’re sure you would have fallen backward if not for the way that his arms are tightly wound around your waist.

Your eyelids flutter shut, and you allow one of your hands to slip down, your palm splaying flat against his back. You feel the way his muscles shift and contract beneath the smooth skin, and the sensation alone has you wanting to squeeze your thighs together to relieve the pressure that’s slowly but surely building at your core.

“Harry,” you breathe. “Harry, I’m—”

“What?” he questions lowly, pulling his face out of your neck. The two of you are finally face-to-face again, and though it should make you nervous, it only spurs you on.

“I like you,” you blurt. “Or—or I ‘fancy’ you, or whatever the hell you want to hear. But…yeah.”

Harry grins; his right hand comes up to cup your face, his thumb rubbing idle circles against your cheek. “I like slash fancy you, too,” he says. “’If that wasn’t obvious already.”

“It wasn’t.” You chew on your bottom lip and laugh nervously.

Harry cocks an eyebrow. “No? Better figure out a way to show you, then.” He smirks for a moment, but then his expression falters and melts into serious sincerity. “If that’s alright with you, of course.”

“It is,” you say quickly, nodding enthusiastically. “It is.”

He grins before leaning in and slotting his lips against yours.

You’ve always imagined what it would be like to kiss Harry. You’ve often caught yourself wondering about the texture of his lips, and the way they would move against yours. You’ve thought long and hard about his technique, whether he likes to work his way up to more intense movements or if he just simply dives in because he can’t wait. You’ve fantasized about different types of kisses—deep and passionate ones that scream with need, short and loving ones when one of you is rushing out the door, tender and unorthodox ones that land on cheeks and foreheads and wherever else your mouths can reach.

But, surprisingly enough, you’ve never wondered about what your first kiss with Harry would be like.

You know that any daydream you would’ve conjured up could never compare to the real thing, though.

His lips are soft and smooth, and his technique is definitely a force to be reckoned with. You whimper into his mouth when he nips at your bottom lip, quickly soothing the sting with the tip of his tongue. Harry’s hands anchor themselves against your cheeks, keeping you steady. When he pulls back for a much-needed gulp of air, you subconsciously lean forward and chase after him.

“Easy,” he giggles—the sound is music to your ears. “Gotta breathe, pet.”

You sigh, closing your eyes and running your nails lightly against the skin of his back. “I’d take your shirt off,” you start, the alcohol in your system making you courageous, “but you’ve already beat me to it.”

Harry smirks, lifting one eyebrow teasingly. “You’re a brave drunk, too,” he notes, and then his face falls. He swears under his breath, looking at you with pained eyes. “Fuck. You’re drunk.”

“Not as much as before,” you tell him quickly. “That…uh…,” you swallow, snickering in embarrassment and gesturing between the two of you with your fingers. “That kind of sobered me up.”

“Still,” Harry insists, sighing dejectedly. “I don’t want there to be any—if you’re pissed—fuck.”

“Harry,” you say slowly. “What is it?”

“Honestly?” he tries for a laugh, but it’s hollow. “I wanna fuck you. But I—we can’t. I don’t wanna risk anything.”

It clicks in your brain, then, and you can’t help but to smile softly, endeared by his words and the seriousness of his tone. You wind your legs around his hips, pulling him a bit closer to you. Harry gnaws anxiously on his bottom lip, and you reach up, catching his chin with your thumb and index finger and guiding him down for a shallow, appreciative kiss.

“That’s sweet,” you tell him. “Being a decent human being? That’s very sexy of you.”

He grins sheepishly, and you giggle.

“And you don’t have to do anything,” you continue. “But…I’m pretty turned on, so maybe—maybe you can just kiss me? And I’ll—,” you look up at him with hooded eyes, “I’ll make myself feel good.”

“Fuck,” Harry whispers in disbelief, his lips parted and his eyes wide. He looks completely awestruck, and it makes you feel powerful. His cheeks are pink, and the flush spreads down his neck, growing a bit fainter once it reaches his chest. “I—you sure, love?”

“One hundred percent,” you murmur, tilting your head upward and catching his lips in another kiss. “Can you help me take my undies off?”

Harry groans, pressing his growing erection against the edge of the counter and smothering his face into your shoulder. “You’ll be the death of me,” he says, the pain evident in his voice. “This is how I go.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes at his dramatics. You find his hands, guiding them beneath the skirt of your dress, and your breath hitches in your throat when he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your lace panties. Harry looks at you one more time, as though he’s really making sure that you want this, and you nod in encouragement.

“It’s fine,” you say softly. “Take them off.”

You place your hands flat against the counter behind you and use what little strength you have to lift your hips from the marble surface. With one smooth swipe, Harry’s got the material of your underwear down your thighs, and you watch with wide eyes as he lowers himself to his knees, slowly inching the fabric down the rest of the way. He peppers kisses along your legs as he does so, starting at your shins, and then your knees, and then the inside of your thighs. You spread your legs a bit further apart in hopes of tempting him, and it seems to work. He inhales deeply, a groan getting caught in his throat when the scent of your arousal floods his nostrils.

“Stop,” he chokes out, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head. “That’s not fair, love.”

“Sorry,” you whisper, biting back a smile. Harry climbs back to his feet, clutching your hot pink panties in his hand. His eyes grow dark when he registers how wet they already are, and then he’s shoving the material into the front pocket of his sweatpants, flashing you a wry grin when you yelp in surprise.

“A souvenir,” is all he says, and then he’s covering your mouth with his.

For a while, you simply kiss, enjoying being wrapped up in each other. Soon, though, the tension at the apex of your thighs is aching and can no longer be ignored. You keep one hand nestled firmly in Harry’s curls while the other one trails down his body, bypassing the swallows on his chest and the butterfly on his abdomen. You squeeze his hip once before slipping your fingers beneath the hem of your dress, gasping immediately when your middle finger makes direct contact with your clit. You rub a few firm circles against the bud, shivering at the sensation.

“Good?” Harry mutters, pulling back and peering down at where he can see the outline of your hand beneath your dress. “How is it, love? Tell me, please.”

“It’s good!” you gasp, an airy moan falling from your lips. “I wish—,” you swallow heavily, “—wish it was you, though.”

Harry lets loose a string of creative curses, placing his hand on the nape of your neck and drawing you back in for another deep kiss. You whine into his mouth, and he gulps down your sounds as though he can’t get enough. He pulls you closer, grinding his cock—which has now filled out a considerable amount—against the counter. You sigh; your arm is nearly squished in between your bodies now, but you can’t find it in yourself to care.

“Tomorrow!” you say in a reedy voice when the two of you break apart for air. “Promise me you’ll fuck me tomorrow.”

“Christ,” Harry growls. One of his hands leaves your face, and he balls it into a fist, slamming it down onto the counter with a frustrated groan. You don’t blame him. You can feel yourself climbing higher and higher, your legs tingling with anticipation as your movements on your clit become a bit more frantic. Harry’s got his forehead pressed against yours, his features warped with agony.

“I swear it,” he grunts fiercely, his hot breath fanning out onto your lips. “’M not letting you outta my sight, understand? You won’t be able to leave the fucking bed.”

And it’s a bit pathetic, really, because that last sentence is all it takes to push you over the edge. You let out a long moan, your toes curling and your body shaking as your orgasm washes over you. Harry presses his mouth everywhere he can reach, littering kisses against your forehead, your cheeks, across your nose, your chin. You gasp quietly, trembling in his hold as tiny aftershocks run down your spine.

“Shit,” you whisper, removing your hand from beneath your dress. Harry watches you attentively, catching your wrist and bringing it up to his face. The pads of your fingers are damp with your arousal, and he slowly pushes them past his lips, sucking off your juices and laving his tongue against the tips of the digits.

“That was—,” Harry gulps, “—so fuckin’ hot.”

You giggle shyly, unable to meet his eyes. Harry grins down at you, and when you cup your hand over the sudden yawn that escapes your mouth, he’s reminded of the fact that you’d shown up on his doorstep at an ungodly hour of the night.

He’s not really complaining, though.

“Should get some rest,” he tells you. “Gonna need all your energy for tomorrow.”

You don’t miss the insinuation lacing his words. You reach for the abandoned carton of fries, popping one in your mouth and smirking up at him. “What’s happening tomorrow?”

“Oh, pet,” Harry chuckles darkly, though the tenderness with which he strokes his fingers along your cheek drastically contradicts his tone. “You thought I wasn’t serious before? Meant what I said—you won’t be able to leave the fucking bed.”

~*~

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i-will-physically-fight-you · 5 years

Text

If Only In My Dreams

Chapter 3: Faithful Friends Who are Dear to Us

Chapter Summary: A skype call ensues between our two protagonists.

Pairings: platonic prinixety & platonic moxiety

Word-count: 3468

Over-All Fic Warnings: abusive parents, homesickness, misunderstandings, crying, loneliness, hurt/comfort

Inspiration: this ask right here

AO3 LINK, Chapter 1, Chapter 2

This was such a chore to write, but it’s finally done!! Many thanks to @theeternalspace for beta’ing as always. There will be an epilogue following suit, but I can’t promise when I’ll post it considering this chapter took six months to write haha

Virgil stared at his phone.

“I’m such a screw-up.” He whispered underneath his breath.

He hadn’t responded to any of his best friend’s texts and now Patton thought he hated him. When in actuality, that was very much the opposite. Virgil loved his best friend so much that he feared the idea of being rejected by him. It had been so stupid to ignore Patton like that.

Of course Patton would think he think he hated him. Virgil had given him the silent treatment all week. Worse, Virgil had broke his promise of reuniting with him in Florida. It’d been so easy in the moment to avoid breaking the truth to Patton. He was now paying for the repercussions of his actions.

Would Patton still want to be friends with him after all this? Virgil wouldn’t want to be friends with himself.

Roman cleared his throat, causing Virgil to jump. He’d almost forgotten he was in the same room as him.

“I know it’s not my place,” He began, “but whoever this “Patton” character is to you, they seem to care a lot about you.”

Virgil raised an eyebrow, “You’ve been reading my text messages?”

He really should be more pissed off about that than he was. Virgil coveted his privacy, protecting his phone from prying eyes like a hawk. But he could hardly bring himself to care about that in the midst of his pity party.

“Only the ones that popped up on your screen. I don’t know your phone’s password, I swear!” Roman said, attempting to justify it, although he looked as ashamed as he rightfully should be, “They even tried calling you at one point. I was going to answer it, but Logan advised against it. Said it was an invasion of your privacy.”

Virgil glanced back down at his phone. Well, that explained why it was on the coffee table and not his hoodie pocket. His phone screen went black and he pressed the home button, turning it on once more. Patton’s last two text messages peered back at him.

Patton Hart 💙: Hey kiddo...are we still friends?

Patton Hart 💙: It’s okay if we aren’t!! I know how you are, Virge, you don’t have to feel obligated to remain friends. Seasons come and go, y’know? Not everything lasts...and that’s okay. I still cherish every memory we spent together. But if you want me to stop meownoying you with texts, I’ll understand.

Virgil let out a strained sound, something halfway between a sob and a laugh. Trust Patton to still slip in a pun in a text like that. Patton loved puns. Virgil also loved puns, a dark secret of his that Patton alone knew. Virgil couldn’t openly admit to liking puns. It messed with his edgy emo vibes.

Meownoying. What a godawful, cheesy pun. In any other context, Virgil would be covering his mouth in a poor attempt to mask his laughter.

He glanced over back to Roman, who stood a few feet away from him. Roman crossed his arms in a relaxed manner, eyes wide with concern. He opened his mouth, his breath hitching at the last second. For the first time since Virgil had known him, Roman looked hesitant. It was clear he wanted to help in some way, but he didn’t know how. Virgil didn’t blame him. They may have spent a whole semester living in the same apartment, but they were at best acquaintances and at worst, strangers.

Virgil sighed, gripping onto his phone tighter.

“Patton is my best friend. Or at least he was,” He said, staring down at the carpeted floor, “The two of us have been friends since middle school. We had planned on meeting up while I was back home in Florida. You can guess how that turned out.”

He wasn’t sure why he was telling this to Roman. It was stupid. Maybe being alone in that apartment for three days without heat caused some brain damage. He explained what had happened to Roman. Well, almost everything. He left out what exactly kept from getting another flight.

Several times he looked up at Roman, expecting him to laugh or make fun of him. Roman did none of those things. He instead leaned against the side of the couch, patiently listening to him. After he finished, there was a lapse of silence. Then Roman spoke,

“You should talk to him.”

Virgil groaned. That damn dreaded phrase. Of course, what else could Roman say? It was true. Only talking would solve this situation. It didn’t mean he didn’t still loathe the idea of it.

“I know.” Virgil said, gritting his teeth as his gaze drifted to the floor, “It’s just I’m...scared.”

It was stupid, Virgil knew, to be afraid of contacting Patton. It wasn’t like the apocalypse would come to fruition or anything. The best-case scenario is that they would remain friends. The worst-case scenario is that they...wouldn’t remain friends and god, that felt worse than death to Virgil. Patton was his only friend, the only person who knew him better than even his parents. Virgil was going to lose him, and like everything else in life, it was all his fault.

He doubted that Roman would understand. From what little he knew of the other, he was confident, cocky, fearless--

“There is no shame in being afraid, you know. I were you, I think I would just as afraid.” Roman said, causing his whirling thoughts to grind to a halt.

“Really?” Virgil gawked up at him.

“Well yeah,” Roman said as he sat down on the couch beside Virgil, “even the bravest of knights have fears.”

“If they’re brave, how can they be afraid then?” Virgil quirked an eyebrow.

“Because bravery is not the absence of fear, it is the ability to continue despite it,” Roman smiled softly, “it is okay to be afraid. However, you must question whether or not is worth it to conquer your fear.”

When Virgil kept staring at him blankly, Roman continued.

“Friendship is like—like a ship!” He snapped his fingers together, “Made up of you and a fellow seafaring traveler—a friend. Together you embark on a wondrous journey, experience amazing things together! But sometimes you might encounter stormy weather or some sort of…sea-witch that threatens to wreck your friend-ship.

“And! You can only save it if you gather the courage to do so. If you jump ship out of fear, the ship will sink. I suppose the question you must ask yourself is: are you willing to go on living with your friendship becoming a shipwreck, or are you willing to attempt to save it from such a fate?”

“Wow…” Virgil said, after finding his voice, “that was incredibly cheesy.”

He’d known Roman had a flair for the dramatics. Once before midterms he found Roman saying a eulogy over his broken jar of crofters jam at 4am in the morning. Still, as cheesy as it’d been, Virgil couldn’t help but be moved.

The fear of rejection was a strong fear. But could he truly live with regrets? Regrets about how he hurt Patton? Regrets about how he didn’t try to fix it? He knew all those fond memories he shared with Patton would become tainted with those regrets. He didn’t want that to happen.

“But,” Virgil spoke up again, “you do have a point.”

Anxious_EmoNightmare is calling…

Patton sunk to the floor beside the refrigerator. He ignored its insistent beeping for him to shut the freezer door. Instead he focused his attention on his phone. Virgil’s profile pic stared back at him. Not a picture of himself, rather, but a drawing of the two Patton had made and given him.

Virgil was an amazing artist, with the knack of creating art that invoked true emotion from the viewer. Patton’s art, on the other hand, was barely a step above stick figures. Still, Virgil treasured Patton’s art enough to use it as a profile pic.

“Aw shucks, kiddo, it’s nothing compared to yours!” Patton had laughed, ducking his head bashfully.

“Yeah but...it’s special ‘cause you made it,” Virgil’s cheeks flushed before mumbling under his breath, “Besidesmyartiskindashittyanyways.”

“What was that?”

“My art is kinda sh--crappy!”

“I will physically fight you if you don’t stop talking about you and your art!” Patton gasped, “Your art is just as--as wonderful, unique and superb as you are!” “No it isn’t.” Virgil groaned, hiding his face with his hands.

“Yes it is!”

“Not it isn’t.”

“Is.”

“Isn’t!”

Patton smiled slyly, “No it isn’t!”

“Yes it is!” Virgil yelled, before the realization dawned on his face.

“So, you doooo admit it.” Patton said as he attempted to keep himself from chuckling.

“You--you tricked me.” Virgil protested, before the two finally burst together into laughter.

That memory usually made him smile. Not today, with his heart hammering in his throat. He stared at the skype call notification, vision blurred with tears. God, he was sick of tears. It felt like in the past year alone, he’d cried enough tears to last a lifetime.

He knew he had to pick up. Time was running short. Hastily, he wiped away his tears and shut the fridge door with his phone-less hand. He took one long deep breath, then pressed accept.

At once the phone screen went blank. A small part of Patton hoped it stayed blank. Then a fuzzy pixelated image came to life--the familiar face of his best friend Virgil filled the screen. He was hunched up in his signature plaid hoodie. The purple bangs that covered half his face made it difficult to tell if he was making eye contact. Patton didn’t recognize his friend’s surroundings at all--meaning he wasn’t at his apartment. Perhaps he was at a friend’s house. The very thought of Patton distracting Virgil from his new friends made his stomach squirm.

Patton swallowed, “H-hey--”

The call immediately ended.

He stared at his phone’s home screen, eyebrows furrowed. Should he call back or…?

Anxious_EmoNightmare is calling…

His phone started buzzing again as Virgil’s profile pic popped up once more. This time Patton clicked on it within the first buzz. Virgil appeared again, fiddling with the sleeve zippers of his hoodie. Patton could hear him taking in slow, measured breaths.

“Uh, sorry.” Virgil said, breaking the palpable silence, “I got...anxious.”

“It’s okay, kiddo.” Patton mustered up a thin smile.

Distantly, in his mind, he worried about what was the cause of Virgil’s anxiety. He knew Virgil was inherently an anxious person whose many fears were largely unfounded. Patton knew this and still loved him, anxiety and all.

Patton’s words did everything but alleviate Virgil, who shrunk even further into himself.

“Look Pat, I’m just gonna come out and say it: it was really shitty of me to ignore your texts for a whole week like that, I shouldn’t have done that--”

“It’s okay, kiddo!” Patton’s smile grew flimsier, unable to keep his voice from cracking, “I know you were probably busy with your friends and all.”

Virgil flinched as if Patton’s words slapped him in the face. He didn’t understand Virgil’s reaction, which alarmed him. Patton usually had a great read on Virgil. Or at least he did five months ago.

“Friends?” Virgil echoed.

“Yeah, friends,” Patton said, “I, um, called your mom--”

“You called my mom? Why?” Virgil demanded.

“I was worried sick!” Patton cried out, a spark of rage he didn’t realize he possessed ignited, “You weren’t responding to my texts or my phone calls. It’s been a whole week-- and with the blizzard, I thought maybe you died!”

Tears rolled down his cheeks as Patton pressed on, “So I called your mom, because I had to know that you were at least okay. And she told me you decided to stay in Massachusetts and--and you were probably busy hanging out with friends. Which is fine! I’m fine! But at least text your best friend and tell them what the hell’s going on.”

Virgil stared at him, pupils dilated and mouth agape. In the stillness, all Patton could hear is Virgil heavily breathing into the mic. Any other time it broke Patton to see his best friend look so...devastated. Not this time. It felt almost triumphant to incite such a reaction in Virgil.

Patton leaned against the refrigerator, heart clanging loudly inside his chest. He hated being angry. He didn’t like how it made him feel. There was just something savagely satisfying about lashing out in anger and it scared him how much he liked it. Patton was angry, yes. He was also frustrated, hurt, confused and a thousand other related synonyms. None of which justified lashing out at Virgil in that way.

“Look, Virge. I’m sorry--”

“No,” Virgil cut in, grimacing, “Don’t apologize, Pat. You have a right to be upset and I--I understand if you don’t want to be friends anymore. I mean, you probably have better friends back in Florida…”

Virgil choked, unable to finish his own sentence. His voice had been relatively calm up until this moment. It’d been that faux calm, one that came from practicing words one hoped never to utter. If Patton knew anything about Virgil and his anxiety, that was most definitely the case.

“Virgil,” Patton inhaled, “I don’t have...any other friends.”

“What?” Virgil asked, looking up at him incredulously.

“Well, I do have friends!” Patton quickly amended, “Not just friends friends if you know what I mean. They’re more like acquaintances if I’m being honest. They’re work and school friends--so they tolerate me because they have to, not because they like me and really they think I’m too annoying and childish--sorry! I’m rambling. I--I haven’t really kept in contact with anyone out of high school besides you. I know it’s pathetic, but you’re my only friend Virgil and I don’t want to lose you--please.”

Virgil blinked at him. Then he laughed, hard enough for tears to come out. High and lilting. Nothing like his usual quiet chuckles. Out of all the outcomes he imagined, Virgil laughing wasn’t one of them. Except it happened. Usually getting a laugh out of Virgil was the highlight of his day. He’d never imagined hearing it would cause his heart to break. He almost considered ending the call there, forgetting it even happened.

The hurt in his face must’ve shown, because Virgil ceased laughing abruptly.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh, I just…” He pauses, fiddling with the ends of his hoodie strings, “Honest to God, you’re my only friend too.”

“What?” Patton croaks out, eyes bulging, “But your mother said--”

“Yeah, well, like a lot of things about my life she was wrong.” Virgil snapped, his ire obviously reserved for her and not Patton.

“Virgil, what...happened?” Patton asked, soft and hesitant.

He was beginning to think that he had the story all wrong. Maybe Virgil didn’t hate him. That he hadn’t change plans last minute without informing Patton or ignored him out of malice. He was still the Virgil Patton knew and loved. He had to be.

Virgil’s fingers tightened around his hoodie strings. His eyes were closed, and Patton could tell by his controlled breaths he was trying to quell his anxiety.

“It’s really stupid,” Virgil begins, “and most of it is my fault because I got anxious and then my one rational brain cell left the building. My mother--she--well, she--”

Virgil let out a huff, frustrated by his inability to speak. Why had he thought a Skype call would be a good idea versus simply texting? Screw it being a show of genuity--he had always been better at transcribing his thoughts in written words rather than spoken ones. He could form his thoughts into a semi-coherent message whereas real time didn’t leave much room for error.

“It’s alright, Virgil,” Patton spoke up, “take your time.”

He looked up at the screen, at Patton who smiled back at him. Not mockingly, but a real, authentic smile meant to reassure him. It was then he remembered why he treasured Patton’s friendship. In high school, people always overlooked Patton as a bubbly airhead. They overlooked his kindness, his refusal to let anyone feel excluded from things. He may not have ever received the top grades in academic subjects, but he possessed wisdom in spades.

Aided by Patton’s encouragement, Virgil continued. His words weren’t perfect. He stumbled and stuttered his way through an explanation. But Patton waited patiently until he regained control of them again. Virgil told him everything.

He admitted to Patton what really happened in the phone conversation between him and his mother. How he accepted her words without a fight, like a coward. How he felt abandoned by his parents, out of sight out of mind. How he spiraled into an anxiety attack, believing he couldn’t tell Patton. Couldn’t let him down or expect Patton to help with his air fares. He thought Patton would forget about him, too busy with hanging out with his real friends to notice Virgil’s absence.

He told him about the broken heater. How he wallowed in his misery rather than figure out a short-term solution for his problem. Waddled up in blankets, lying on a couch. If it hadn’t been for his roommate Roman--well, he didn’t want to think about it.

“He kidnapped you?” Patton asked, gasping.

It had been the first time Patton had said something. All up to this point, he remained attentively listening. Occasionally he nodded or hummed sympathetically to let Virgil know he was paying attention.

“Well, sort of,” Virgil grimaced, “The cold kinda got to me. He was worried I had hypothermia and got a bit panicked. He took me to his brother’s place and offered to let me stay here for the rest of the break. He, well, he encouraged me to talk to you. He’s...a pretty nice dude. Don’t you dare tell him I said that, or it’ll get to his head.”

“Got it.” Patton said, nodding sagely as if the chances of them ever interacting weren’t slim. His eyebrows furrowed, waiting for Virgil to lead the conversation in what direction he’d prefer. A terrible decision, really. Virgil knew the words he had to utter, words that could truly do nothing to fix the damage already done.

“Patton, I’m so sorry about everything,” Virgil blurted out. Quick. Like ripping off a band-aid. He shut his eyes tight, unable to see Patton’s reaction. Because if he couldn’t see it, maybe it’d hurt less when Patton denied his apology. Anxiety logic.

“Virgil...” Patton said softly, “of course I forgive you.”

Immediately a colossus weight lifted up of Virgil at those words. But Patton wasn’t finished speaking, “Who I can’t forgive are your parents.”

“My parents?”

“Virgil, I only know a little from what you told me about them,” Patton hesitated, “but from what I know, you deserve better. They belittle you, refuse to acknowledge your own feelings and insist you only do things their way...that’s not love, Virgil. That’s not how family should act. After all, you can’t spell ‘FAM’ without I L Y.”

Virgil gaped up at Patton’s grainy image on the screen. This news shouldn’t be a huge surprise to him. He knew his parents did some questionable things when it came to parenting. But he had always thought it was his anxiety over-magnifying things. Making mountains out of molehills.

To hear someone point it out and insist it wasn’t right and to have that person be Patton…well.

“You’re not mad at me?” Virgil blurted out, “But I ruined everything, if maybe I’d--”

“Virge, I was more worried than upset,” Patton interrupted firmly, “I was worried about losing our friendship, but more importantly I was worried if you were okay.”

“Oh,” Virgil said faintly, “Well you shouldn’t worry, ‘cause that’s my job.”

“I care about you, I’m going to worry whether you like it or not, mister.”

“Well maybe I’m not worth worrying over.”

“How dare you!” Patton gasped dramatically, “I will physically fight you!”

“Pat, you’re not even here with me--”

“I will personally book a ticket to Massachusetts if I have too!”

“Wait you’d do that? For real?”

“Well, of course,” Patton said, “we’re best friends, aren’t we?”

Virgil stared at him. Patton’s tear-encrusted face alit with a soft glow. His lips pressed into a small smile, one that always been reserved for Virgil and him alone. He felt both foolish and grateful. Foolish for ever doubting Patton. Grateful for the fact that Patton refused to give up on him, even when Virgil himself believed he should.

“Yeah, of course,” Virgil agreed, a lump forming in his throat, “I, uh, value our friend-chip a lot.”

Patton’s resulting squeal almost broke Virgil’s eardrums. But that was okay, because he’d rather be deaf if it meant he was still friends with one Patton Hart.

#thomas sanders #sander sides #patton sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #moxiety #kat writes

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