#pensive emoji my throat HURTS | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

strititty · 3 years ago

Text

it’s FREE DAY and while i seem to have misplaced my ability to write (pensive emoji) i do have some wips i can post snippets of, so here! have half a fic that is based on my demonstuck series. it’s a non canon splinter where david is more of an asshole than expected and dave bears the brunt of it. noncon ahead, beware all ye who enter here. there’s not like. Full Sex because it’s not finished, but i feel it probably warrants that nsfw tag

==>

His hands are hot and insistent, unrelenting even as you push at him and try to squirm your way out of this goddamn mess of a situation. You don’t even know how you got here--you only know that he, the you-not-you, must fucking hate you. When he talks he sounds like you, for the most part, except when the cruelty shines through and you wonder if you’ve ever sounded like that.

“Get the fuck off,” you snap, but he doesn’t.

Despite your kicking, David - and yeah, you really have to call him that, don’t you - doesn’t get the fuck off. His shitty smile suggests that you’re hilarious for even trying to bring that option to the table. It’s insufferable, because he doesn’t even hurt you when you’re trying your damnedest to throw him.

“Nah,” he tells you, all amused. “This is free real estate, dude. I like my odds here. Thinking of takin’ up residence, makin’ myself of a good ole fashioned home. Not like you’ve got a whole lot else goin’ on.”

He kisses just on the side of your jaw and laughs softly when you swear at him, which. Kinda gay of you, but a breathy laugh near your ear makes you feel things you probably shouldn’t, which means you redouble your efforts and get absolutely nowhere.

“Can’t believe I’m modeled after something like you. You’re gonna grow up hot, jsyk,” how the fuck does he enunciate that, “but I guess I could call you cute and get away with it. Like Barbie doll cute, not Ken doll cute. Not that anyone actually thinks Ken is cute, cuz c’mon. Those plastic abs just don’t hold up.”

Part of you wants to engage in this conversation because it’s the sort of bullshit you love to riff off of, but most of you is panicking because he’s holding you down, he’s not letting you go, he’s nuzzling at your neck like baby’s sweetest prom date like ‘yes brad i’ll love you forever, i got my promise ring on and everything’. You try to whack him with your chin and he doesn’t even flinch. The sound you make when he starts kissing your throat could be most adequately described as a snarl.

“Don’t be like that, baby,” he says, so maybe Brad isn’t the best boyfriend so much as that skeezy eighteen year old worming his way into Jessica’s panties through peer pressure or whatever. It’s infuriating, and then it’s terrifying, because there’s too much weight on you and your arms are pinned on the bed and it reminds you of a dream you had once--

You bite his lip when he dips in for another one of those deceptively soft kisses and he isn’t angry. He laughs as a drip of hot blood lands on your face.

“Y’know, I’m gettin’ the feeling that you’re not really into this,” David says, as though you haven’t been making that explicitly clear with all your struggling and spitting.

“No shit he finally picks up on some social cues, give him a round of applause.” Your voice comes out caustic in a way that reminds you more of a certain angry friend you have than yourself, but you absolutely can’t think of him right now or you’re gonna be sick.

“I can change it up a little,” he continues, amused and faux-thoughtful. “Give it to you like your big bro likes it. I’m a flexible guy.”

You catch ‘big bro’ and you brain short-circuits because oh. Oh god in heaven (or satan in hell), this is your bro’s goddamn personal demon and they fucked. Of course they fucked. You knew that on some level as soon as you saw them in proximity, in the way they shoot the shit and the way they touch, but the bald confirmation of it punches you in the gut.

Not just the confirmation, but the idea that any version of you - anyone that looks even a little bit like you - anyone at fucking all - could do this to him? Hold him down? Fuck him up? Pull him apart?

What would that even look like?

You don’t realize you’ve gone slack until David laughs again, and it could almost be friendly. You know it isn’t, but if you shut your eyes you can imagine--you don’t know. You and Rose just hanging out. Stupid banter. Your own laugh when she catches you off guard.

But this is not that, and David looks you in the face with the cruel twist to his smile, even as his hand comes up to cradle your cheek.

“Maybe I’ll show you some time.”

When he kisses you again you’re mortified at how much of the fight has gone out of you. This isn’t how you were raised. Thinking about how you were raised only drags you deeper down the thought spiral, though, Bro’s imposing figure and the thought of it laid low. Laid bare. Your shoulders are shaking.

#demon next door #not canon #not safe sane or consensual #davecest #stridercestweeknsfw #lime writes

12 notes · View notes

whumpqin · 5 years ago

Text

Broken

This hurt me to write. But it would not stop haunting me until I finished it. So now you all have to hurt, too. I’m sorry, thank you for your sacrifice /pensive emoji

Elisha / Caleb tag: @faewhump @imagination1reality0 @galaxywhump @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @insanitywishes (if you’d like to be added just ask!)

CW: Dissociation, pet whump, referenced past abuse, referenced past trauma, referenced past torture, begging for pain (ish), broken whumpee, deconditioning, dubcon kissing, teeny dubcon reference, emotional and psychological whump in general, and maybe some other things that I missed! lmk if I need to tag something

Word Count: 1,762

There are two people that make up his entire world.

The first is his Master, who took care in binding his wounds and hushed him even when he had committed the greatest sin of his life. He had forgiven him and gave him a purpose when he had none left. Caleb wished he could love him, and couldn’t remember why he wasn’t able to.

The second was his Sir, who held him and soothed him when he cried and apologised wordlessly on the worst nights. He was much different than he remembered, lenient and kind in place of perfection, refusing kisses that he would once accept gladly. It was confusing, but it was Caleb’s Sir. He would never question him.

He loved them both. He couldn’t imagine doing anything without them.

Master had sat him down by the windowsill, allowing him to take care of the plants that sat there so that they wouldn’t wither and die. Caleb sat there, staring outside with a dull expression at one of the low hanging branches of the tree, swaying in the wind.

Or maybe he thought he was staring. It felt like he was staring, but every time he tried to focus his mind went somewhere else, held underneath the waters of his head. All he could see was the low branch swaying in the wind over and over, like a record on repeat that he couldn’t reach out and stop. Instead, he was entranced by the way it moved.

He wished that he could move his limbs like that, back and forth the way some instinctual part of him knows how he’s supposed to move. But a long time ago he had given up trying to get them to do anything, instead letting his body move without provocation because there had been no point. His body knew how to be good.

When Caleb blinked slowly, everything outside had gone dark. Pitch black, and he could no longer see the tree branch swaying in the wind. Instead, he saw the dots of little stars. Holes in the prison.

The sound of something shifted, and his body lifted its head to see his Sir watching him from the lounge chair. Without even really processing the body moved closer while in a low crouch, settling onto its knees next to Sir and pushing its head forward into his lap. Sir’s hand held one of its horns, stopping its head from the motion.

The body’s mouth went slack, opening as several words to apologise rose to his head but didn’t come out. He couldn’t remember why it didn’t say anything, just that it couldn’t. Penance for its crimes, hushed to silence.

Pets don’t speak unless their Masters want them to, Caleb.

Instead, its one eye slowly drifted up to look at Sir’s neutral face. The two eyed each other; a pet with no commands and a Sir who wouldn’t give one.

“You’re not sitting on the floor,” he spoke, voice smooth. “Not if I have anything to say ‘bout it.”

The body blinked in response. Where was it to go then? It wasn’t allowed on the furniture or on the floor… should it stand? Reluctantly it drew away, standing straight up and looking down at Sir. Its hands drew behind its back, holding one wrist while it waited.

Sir stared at the body for a moment, some form of thought behind those eyes that Caleb couldn’t quite place. Ultimately it wasn’t up to him to ask questions, he was there to be a good pet and obey whatever they wanted from him. But then Sir sighed, and both Caleb and his body felt the immediate guilt stab him in the chest. He must have don’t something that displeased him, something that earned Sir’s disappointment. Something he needed to atone for.

The body must have had a similar idea, because its hands outstretched towards Sir from behind its back, forearms facing upwards. Silently asking for punishment that he needed.

After you’re punished, you do better.You be good, the thought bled into his mind, a voice that felt like his own but strangely foreign. It probably doesn’t help that he couldn’t remember what his own voice sounded like in the first place.

Sir’s hands brushed the body’s arms out of the way. “No, Caleb, I’m not going to hurt you. You’re not… look, it’s fine, okay? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Caleb felt frustration prickle against the body’s skin, against both of their skins. It was confusing not to be hurt. Pain made everything feel real and it was normal. What did Sir want him to do? Neither him nor his body could figure it out and that was wracking his nerves worse than the anticipation of being hurt.

Sir sighed again and he felt- no, the body felt tears prick at the corner of its eye and not-eye. What was he doing wrong?

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, um shit… uh… Caleb, come here. Come here, love.” His voice remained cool and smooth, turning a sickening sweet as Sir outstretched his arms, curling his fingers inwards to invite the body to come closer.

Obediently it moved forward, practically melting into Sir’s touch as it was moved into his lap. The body’s head curled into the crook of Sir’s neck as best as it could, their limbs tangling together so it could be held close. Both Caleb and the body sighed, the uncomfortable, frustrating prickling against his skin replaced with warmth and comfort.

The body sniffed, a muted whine seeping from its nose. A hand slowly began to draw itself against his side, and it leaned into the touch.

“Shh, it’s okay Caleb. It’s alright,” Sir soothed. Something bumped against the body’s horns, and Caleb realized it was Sir’s own pair of antlers rubbing against his. “I’m not gonna hurt you. I won’t do that, okay?”

Sir and Master were always saying that, even though they should. They should, and then things would go back to normal and they would hurt him and everything would be okay and there wouldn’t be blood everywhere and they would be fine. Everything needed to go back to normal and those antlers weren’t real they weren’t there because they couldn’t be.

Something was wrong in the body’s chest and Caleb couldn’t decide between grief or guilt. He figured that it must have been both.

He needed to fix this. Needed some kind of normal.

The body lifted its face on the thought. If it asked nicely, maybe it would get what it needed to be good. So that it could go back to being good and do better until it was hurt the next time.

It pressed its soft lips against Sir’s cheek, ignoring the tears and hitched breath, slowly beginning to trail alone Sir’s jawline. Sir tilted his head gently, until their lips met in a warm and inviting kiss. Begging for the relief it couldn’t give itself.

Sir pulled away too soon, replacing the touch with an unequal hand against the body’s face.

“Caleb…” he said, voice tense and filled with more emotion than Caleb could understand. “Who am I? Tell me, please.”

Permission. A simple gift of a command, even if it was short. The body’s mouth opened, fangs exposed even though he promised he wouldn’t bite, I’ll never bite again I promise Sir, and no sound came out, the words getting choked in its throat before they even had a chance. Because Sir taught it never to bare its fangs again. The last lesson it was ever taught and was still being taught because it hadn’t learned because there was still all of that blood-

“Caleb. Look at me. Look at me, love, I’m right here.” A thumb against the body’s cheek slowly began to rub in circles, pressing intermittently. “Who am I? You can speak. You can always speak to me. Just tell me who I am.”

The body couldn’t speak. Wasn’t allowed. Shouldn’t be allowed. But it had to because it had been given a command and there was punishment worse than death if it disobeyed. So it voted for the next best thing.

“Sir,” it breathed, voice raspy and in the form of a whisper, barely audible.

Sir frowned and shook his head sadly. The body and Caleb’s heart sank. How could that be wrong?

“No, Caleb. It’s me, it’s Quinn, Remember? Quinn.” The body’s horns and the antlers bumped together again, making a quiet clacking noise. It shook its head. That wasn’t right, it couldn’t be right, because there was no way out. Master and Sir made sure of it this time, the body was never going to get out. A desperate sob, silent but still shaking the body, fell pitifully from its mouth. “Hey, I know, I know, shh… It’s okay, you’re safe, Caleb. You’re safe, don’t worry. We’ll take care of you. You’ll be okay.”

Safe. He was safe. The body was safe. Caleb could cling to that, he could forget about everything else and be safe, with his Master and Sir and not think because that’s not what pets do. The body’s breath hitched as it leaned into the hand against its cheek, trying to rub the dull ache in its chest away.

Sir hushed and soothed the body like he always did, a hand at his side and his cheek, running against skin in an attempt to calm.

“Hey, Quinn, food’s… ready.” His Master’s voice echoed into the room, and the body didn’t bother to raise its head. It only curled closer to Sir, nudging against his neck as Master’s footsteps came closer. “Is he… what happened?”

“I was just… he… Me and my fuckin’ big mouth, Om, that’s what. Doesn’t help he’s having a bad day, already. He thinks I’m that fucker.” A hand carded through the body’s hair, gripping tightly and sparking just enough pain to feel comforting. The body sighed in relief, as the hand continued to move through its hair. “...Can you bring our food out, hon? I’ll see if I can’t get ‘em to eat something.”

“Um, okay. Is it… should we stop him from-”

“I… don’t think so. It seems to soothe him, but…” Sir sighed, and the body whimpered on an instant response. “Listen, just go bring the food out, and we’ll talk about what to do from there, okay?”

Caleb could feel the body tremble as Master walked away without another word, as it curled inwards. One of its hands against its side, the other balled up and gripping onto its own hair.

65 notes · View notes

scenarihoes · 6 years ago

Note

Hi! I've been following your blog for a while and I've finally decided to send in a request || You know the 100 word dialogue prompt thing? Can you please do Number 4 w/ Mezo Shouji? My boi need some love :))) (Love you

YES thank you so much for this prompt i love my baybie boy

04. shouji mezo / reader

————

Three knocks is all it takes before the wooden door is swinging open, revealing a very familiar face.

“Oh, you’re here!” Mrs. Shouji beams. She claps her hands together and grins nice and wide. “I wasn’t sure when you’d be arriving.”

“Yeah, sorry about that, I texted Mezo but I don’t think he saw it.” Sheepishly you rub the back of your head, your other hand occupied with the plastic bag you’d carried over from your place to his.

“No worries!” She steps aside. “Come on in. He’s just resting up for now, you can go right in.”

Your brows knit. “Would he be fine if I just… Walked in?”

Mrs. Shouji shuts the door and follows behind you as you wander to the kitchen, hoist your bag up and set it on the counter. As she helps you unwrap a very well packaged container of soup, she giggles.

“If it’s you coming in I’m sure he’ll be alright. Just don’t jump on him- he’s a confused waker.”

“I see,” The idea of Shouji awakening with that blurry, momentary confusion is a fun one to play with. Messy hair, glazed over eyes, those pensive brows. Internally you fawn over him. “Thanks for letting me over, by the way. Is he doing any better?”

Mrs. Shouji sighs and slumps her shoulders. “I’m afraid not. Yesterday he was up to eat dinner but he headed right back to sleep after he was done. Hopefully it just stays at a fever and nothing else developes.”

“That would be scary… Hopefully this helps him feel better, even if it’s just by a little bit. I hate to see him unwell…”

One of her hands reaches out, touches at your shoulder. “And that’s exactly why I’m glad he has you.”

Her statement, albeit harmless, makes you flush. This would surely be a moment that Shouji would internally gush over- his mother openly approving of you, supporting you. Even without him you feel the pride bubbling in your chest.

“T-Thank you, so much, that seriously means a lot.” You smile.

“No need to thank me,” She turns around and retrieves a bowl from the cupboard, pours the soup from the plastic container and hands it back to you after settling a spoon in the broth. “Just tell him mom says ‘hi’ when you go in.”

“I will!” Nodding eagerly, you hold the bowl. You take your leave from the kitchen and wander down the hallway to his room, stand outside and stop for just a moment. Even with his mother's blessing, you still feel strange just… Barging in without his permission. You’d wished he would have send you a confirmation message that he knew you were coming, even if it was nothing more than just a random emoji. As you reach out you hope that he doesn’t get all sorts of offended by this.

The moment you open the door you can just sense the sickness. His room is as dark as a cave, closed blinds and a tightly shut window to keep him from getting too cold. A fan for white noise sits at his nightstand and points towards his bed, and the winds rustle literally the only visible part of him: his hair. A large mass atop his bed serves as the outline of him, and you can’t help but smile at the burrow he’s created. It’s almost like a plan, buried, barely visible by the top.

You giggle despite his suffering.

But, then, you remember why he’s created his little hole and it makes you frown all over again in worry. What had started out with what he thought was allergies had turned into something worse, a fever that was rather adamant about sticking around. Exhaustion, heavy limbs (all six of them!) were his downfalls. From the moment he mentioned he wasn’t feeling very well you were worrying like a mother hen, and no amounts of his assurance could help.

This was not how he expected to spend his winter break.

“Um.. Mezo?” You whisper, using your heel to shut the door quietly behind you. It clicks just softly enough to keep him from stirring. With the curtains suppressing the sunny day outside, if not for the emptiness of his room you would have had to squint your eyes to navigate your way to him. As you draw closer, you feel yourself freezing in your place. You hadn’t seen it from afar, but the mound of white, messy hair isn’t the only part of him that's visible to you.

Even with the sickness, Shouji sleeps soundly. On his side, back facing you, he tucks his chin with the blanket pulled just above his neck. Even though you know it’s unfair to take advantage of his rest, you can’t stop yourself from looking. Your eyes, geedy and searching, trail all the way from his shut eyes down to the rest of his face, exposed for the first time. Your heart leaps in your chest at the sight of him, the first time.

His nose pushes out, strangely animalistic in it’s own way. Like a muzzle, almost. His lips stretch along the broadness of his face, and you feel a flutter in your heart. This is what he’s warned you of so many times before. All your relationship, even before you’d come close with him, he’d told you time and time again that while he understood you’d love him in any form, he didn’t like the idea of you seeing what lie beneath his mask.

But god, he was so cute. You wanted to kiss every part of him, fever or not.

A smile creeps onto your face. You reach out, gently press a hand to where you think his shoulder is, and shake him softly.

“Mezo,” You whisper. “Wake up.” While he makes a sound in the back of his throat, eyebrows knitting, he doesn’t entirely wake, so you try again. “I have soup.”

That seems to grab him out of whatever dreams he’d been casted into. His eyes open to face the wall, blinking slowly. As if in a trance, he turns to you in silence.

“…Mom?”

You giggle. “Nah, just me.”

For some reason it takes him a long, long moment to process that information. Over his shoulder he just stares at you with perplexion. You get an even better of his features and it makes you want to reach out and smooch him on his lips finally, because his hair is a mess and he just looks so damn cute with doe-full eyes that can’t quite concentrate.

“Everything okay?” Your voice falls just above a whisper, and you turn to set the soup down on his nightstand beside the fan just so you can reach out and pet over the top of his hair.

Something about the contact seems to shake him alive. His eyes widen, he yanks away from you and throws the blanket over his head in an almost childlike manner, terrified. Naturally you reach out and try to sooth the outburst, take hold of the covers and gently pry it away, but for the first time, he fights you.

“You saw…” He mumbles from beneath the covers, and you sigh.

“I saw.” As you pull away you sit down at the edge of his bed. “You made it sound like it was something of a nightmare.”

You can almost feel the way his eyebrow raises. The pregnant pause he takes make you frown. “...You don’t find it ugly?”

“…Do you?” Your brows knit as you look at him, the shape of him under the mound of blankets.

“No necessarily.”

“Then what’s the problem…?” Resting your hands on your lap, your shoulders slump. “Did you think I’d find you ugly?”

“Not ugly, but… Scary.”

It strikes you like an arrow through the heart. You’re suddenly hyper-reminded of the child he’d encountered in his youth who’d bumped into him, looked up at the hulking form of his body and didn’t cry at the shape of him, but his face, and his face alone. It hurts your heart.

You sigh sadly. “Can you look at me?”

Very slowly, cautious almost, he pulls the blankets down to his nose. Just barely can you see the slope that extends outwards. When his nervous eyes meet yours, you smile as warmly as you can manage through the sensitivity.

“I’ve told you time and time again,” You begin with a quiet voice. “That I love you no matter what you look like. You don’t have to hide from me.” Reaching out, you gently tug the blanket. “So can you please… Stop hiding?”

Even though it’s easy to see that he’d rather not, he does anyways. He brings the blanket down and awkwardly grips the fabric he surrounds himself in like it’s some sort of outlet for his anxiety.

Before he can even dream to cover himself again, you crawl closer, bring your palms to his cheeks and barely touch the edges of his lips. Your thumbs caress him. “I love all of you, no matter what. It doesn’t matter if you look like this, it’s what makes you, you.”

“And my face… It… That doesn’t scare you?”

Your heart hurts again. “Of course not. You’re not a scary person, Mezo. You’ll never scare me off, especially with something like how you look. Besides,” The corners of your lips rise. “Now, I can do this.”

There’s a moment of silence, uncertainty. He stills himself and wonders what’s to come, and you beat him to any sort of punchline.

The kiss is chaste, barely there, but it’s a milestone paved of gold. Fever be damned, you peck his lips and pull away with a shy smile while your heart does flips in your chest.

He flushes all the way from his ears to his neck and there’s no way the fever had made him that red. You giggle, he touches his lips with one of his hands and blinks at you.

“I know you’re sick and all,” You start, “But I couldn’t help myself. You’re just so cute.”

#bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #imagine #scenario #shouji mezo #x reader

31 notes · View notes

absolutelyabby23 · 7 years ago

Text

Teaching the Teacher (Logicality)

Pairing: Logicality (Romantic) Prinxiety (Romantic)

Summary: (Hurt/ Comfort/ Whatever this is) Logan knows everything… right? When a certain moral side presents new feelings, Logan must seek help from the other sides in order to get his man. But does he really need to change? The teacher will have to become the taught.

Word Count: 2,442

Warnings: None that I can think of. Some sadness and mentions of loneliness. Please let me know if I need to add anything.

Author’s Note: Feel free to send me prompts for one shots or headcanons! I love to write Sanders Sides. Also the pick up line I used is by my dear friend Frances Poth. She’s very punny!

Logan knew that he was smarter than the other sides. Objectively, of course. He had the most comprehensive knowledge of the universe, from the creepiest vertebrates which ruled the murky seafloor to the glittering array of stars that form the constellations he spent countless nights observing. But that didn’t mean that he knew everything. Every so often, Logan would humble himself and learn lessons that school couldn’t teach you from Thomas and the other sides. It all started when Thomas gave him a set of modern vocabulary words. It made the logical side have an epiphany. There was much more to learn. And he wouldn’t stop until had learned it all.

Virgil and Logan tended to regularly hang out in Logan’s room. The two were perfectly fine sitting in silence while they focused on their respective activities. Logan was often sitting at his desk making the weekly schedule, pausing occasionally to check what effects the plans might have on his anxious friend. Virgil sat on Logan’s bed or sometimes on the dresser if he was particularly stressed and politely offered suggestions when asked. The rest of the time was occupied with flipping through books on poetry and space, tracing his fingers along the crisp ink images that embellished every page. He was also in charge of their shared playlist, expertly choosing calming instrumentals to fill the tranquil silence with a beautiful accompaniment.

Occasionally, a discussion or question would arise and the two would hold “civil” debates. More often than not, screams of “FALSEHOOD!” and hissing could be heard resonating in the hallway. However, Logan and Virgil always made up and continued to meet up. One evening, Logan asked Virgil a rather unusual question.

“What is the function of the dance move known as a dab?” Logan asked with an extremely pensive and serious look on his face. “I know I have expertly executed this skill before. And yet, I do not know what it truly symbolizes.” Virgil was able successfully stifle his laughter after realizing that the logical side was completely serious. Unfortunately for Logan, Virgil was known for his sarcasm that the teacher could not distinguish from his normal language.

“Destroy all bacteria. It’s an acronym,” responded Virgil quickly, thinking nothing of the consequences that his words possessed. Suddenly, Logan sneezed rather forcibly and executed a sharp dab immediately after.

“That should keep illness at bay. Correct?” inquired Logan with a satisfied and somehow incredibly innocent smirk. Virgil couldn’t help but chuckle. His stoic friend was not only capable of providing a safe and calm environment, but also genuinely making him laugh. Virgil glanced at the clock and stood up, giving Logan some finger guns just like bros do. He walked out with a lighter bounce to his steps. The chill sessions in Logan’s room always left him refreshed and he almost felt optimistic about future challenges. Logan had helped him to believe he was capable of solving problems too. Virgil’s phone buzzed and he pulled it out, immediately being bombarded with a swarm of lyrics and emojis. He lovingly rolled his eyes. Princey sure knew how to embellish. He changed course and walked towards his boyfriend’s room.

Meanwhile, Logan turned back to his paperwork and began jotting down some notes. The test was a success. Virgil was able to provide an answer (if even a joke answer) for any question, no matter how stupid it seemed. He was his close friend. He should be able to ask him about… wait, no. While he trusted Virgil most, the anxious side wasn’t the expert on the field Logan was interested in. He sighed in defeat. He would have to go to Roman.

A week later, Roman and Virgil were sitting on the couch watching the Nightmare Before Christmas for the seventh time that month. Their Disney discussions always came back to that film. Roman was belting lyrics while Virgil softly hummed along, perfectly content with watching the display before him. Logan cautiously approached the living room. Could he really do this? Perhaps this fact was too blunt. Patton skipped out of the kitchen past Logan, offering the logical side a glowing smile. Logan felt a very illogical process begin to happen. The same process he had been going through for months. After much research he confirmed his initial fear. Feelings. He was having feelings and they seemed to be linked to whenever Patton smiled or laughed or said his name. For once, Logan was at a loss for a plan. That’s where Roman could help him. After all, he had managed to secure Virgil with minimal errors. Surely Patton would be a simple case for the romantic side.

Logan shyly walked in the room and turned off the television. The other two sides shouted in protest but silenced when they saw the concerned look on Logan’s face. Once they were calm, Roman gently clutching Virgil’s hand to ease his worries, Logan spoke.

“Hello gentlemen. I believe I am gay,” Logan blurted out before quickly shooting his eyes down towards the floor. That was not the most ideal introduction. The others burst into laughter and Logan could feel his face get hot. Suddenly Roman was next to him, tapping his shoulder amicably.

“Logan, buddy we’re all gay,” Virgil chuckled from his spot on the couch. Logan mumbled something incoherently.

“What was that?” Roman asked, not sure if his suspicions were being confirmed.

“I like Patton. A lot,” repeated Logan with a tone that Roman knew very well. Logan had a crush and he had one bad. “I was hoping you could teach me the art of flirting so that I might obtain a date with Patton.” Roman puffed up his chest and posed with pride. This is what he was born to do!

“Logic? In need of creativity? Of course I will help you!” exclaimed Roman. Virgil looked on in anticipation of a show. This was going to be good. Logan went to his room and came back with a pen and legal pad, ready to take notes.

“Okay so first we must take baby steps. Start with a punny pick up line. Patton will adore that! Right Virgil?” Roman asked, looking at his boyfriend for support.

“You know Ro, puns aren’t really Logan’s thing. At least not on purpose. Are you sure that this is a good idea?” asked Virgil, already knowing full well what the answer to his question would be.

“Of course it is! I’m the love expert! Ok Logan, first you should dress up for your man. A glittery tie might help! Then tousle your hair. Men love the messy look, it’s very hot.” Virgil winked at Roman from the couch through his bangs. Flustered and blushing, Roman continued.

“Maybe you could try some of these. Are you the sun? Because you light up my life,” said Roman, taking on a deeper tone of voice.

“Are you the sun? Because you warm my heart and I wish we could be closer,” mumbled Virgil. Roman’s eyes widened and he quickly swaggered over to the couch and picked Virgil up bridal style. The anxious side let out a squeak of embarrassment and tried to hide before being kissed by Roman and giving in. “That was pure poetry my darkest love. Perhaps you could come up with something like that Logan. The the next step would be a romantic gesture. Like a gift that Patton would adore.” The two continued gazing into each other’s eyes while Logan walked back to his room, looking over his notes. There was much research to be done.

The next morning at breakfast, Patton was whistling to himself while cooking up some pancakes for his favorite people in the whole mindscape. He had set out butter, syrup, fruit, whipped cream, and chocolate chips to accompany the fluffy circles of yumminess. Lastly, he grabbed Logan’s favorite jar of Crofters jam and placed it at the logical side’s place. Just as he finished his work, Logan appeared awkwardly leaning against the wall. His hair was in his face and a red sparkly tie embellished his regular black shirt. Logan could thank Roman for the new tie. Perhaps too much but if it was for Patton, perhaps it was necessary. Patton didn’t know what to say. Logan looked good in everything from his Sherlock gear to his sweater. This was just… new. Logan cleared his throat and spoke in an uneven tone. Trying to sound, as the internet had put it, sexy.

“Hey baby, we must have hydrogen bonding because our connection is the strongest in the known universe,” he said, attempting to wink. In reality, his face contorted in a very unpleasant manner. Patton stood in shock. He didn’t know what to say. Logan saw the look on his crush’s face and assumed defeat. He mumbled and apology and moped back to his room, locking the door.

Roman and Virgil, soon came down and Patton explained what had happened, leaving out his joy that the encounter produced. That wasn’t the most important part. Right now, Logan was upset. Feelings could wait until he was happy again. The other two shared a knowing glance but said nothing. Roman decided to talk to Logan later. Virgil was mentally preparing for an emergency chill session. He would listen to what he could and offer what comfort he knew how to execute. Poor Logan, emotions just weren’t his strong suit.

After a while, Logan heard a light yet chipper tapping on his door and then footsteps walking away. Carefully, he opened his door to see a small stack of pancakes, topped with Crofters. But something was off. The jam was shaped into the symbol inspired by a certain emotional organ. Perhaps Logan misread the signs. Did he actually stand a chance? He knew he had to at least try. Experiments must be finished.

A strange package arrived at the mindscape later that afternoon. Logan was seen grabbing it and quickly retreating to his room. Roman followed him in. The package was revealed to be a big cat puzzle.

“I have obtained the gift for Patton,” said Logan. “I will confess to him tonight.” Logan was now back in his usual attire. It felt good to have the security of his normal tie back. Roman shook his head in disgust.

“No, no, no! This will never work to woo him,” scoffed Roman before conjuring some blue roses. “Try these instead!” Before Logan could protest, Roman was gone once again, leaving the logical side in much confusion. Why were feelings so complicated? Perhaps that’s why he loved Patton, the physical entity of a feeling himself. He was complex, with many layers for Logan to explore. Happiness, sadness, responsibility, and humor. It was all beautiful and it was all Patton. How could someone as wonderful as that ever love someone so… simple? He didn’t understand love so how could he receive it? Perhaps he was meant to function like the android he often suspected he was. Devoid of affection, meant only for facts.

A knock interrupted his thoughts. He opened the door, expecting to see Virgil. Instead, Patton stood holding a NASA mug filled with coffee. His face was crestfallen but quickly lit up at the sight of Logan.

“Hiya Teach. I came to check up on you,” Patton said warmly, handing Logan the coffee. Their fingers lingered for a moment before Logan pulled away, ducking his face, attempting to hide the blush creeping up his cheeks.

“Thank you Patton,” he began. He grabbed the flowers from his desk and attempting to discreetly kick the puzzle aside. “These are pretty… just like you.” Patton beamed but quickly turned his attention to the box sticking out from under Logan’s bed.

“What’s this?” Patton asked, bending down to examine the box. Logan quickly stepped in the way and went into full exposition mode. “It’s nothing! Just my dumb idea to get you to like me. But why would you like me anyway? I’m a robot and I know it and you know it as well. Roman tried to help me change for you but I can’t do it alone. I don’t understand love. I just know I love you. Your companionship would be beneficial. And now I’ve made it worse by t-talking too much!” Logan sank down to the floor sobbing. He was too much. Too overwhelming. Patton deserved better. But that’s not what Patton wanted.

“Oh Lo, you’re not a robot. You feel more than you think you do. You care and protect all of us. You and Virge are such close friends that there’s no way you feel nothing. And Roman, well you two are passionate about poetry. Passion takes emotion. As for me…” Patton grabbed the puzzle and handed it to Logan. “I love you just the way you are. And you should love yourself too. Because you’re amazing and I would never want you to change if you don’t want to. I will support you but believe me when I say, you are enough.”

“I thought we could build this together,” Logan sniffled and leaned into the moral side who smiled so wide that it was blinding. So pure and bright.

“That sounds like a wonderful first date!” Patton cheered. He then pressed a quick kiss to the other side’s cheek. They stayed like that for a while until Logan broke the silence.

“Hey Pat? You know how we are gonna do that puzzle together? Maybe we could learn some things together as well… like about relationships and love.” Logan tried to play it off smooth. Patton had set their first date, but he wanted to try his tactics as well.

“Is that seriously how you’re going to ask him to be your boyfriend?” joked Virgil from the doorway. Princey would kill him later for ruining the moment, but the timing was too perfect. Secretly, he was proud of Logan for being so brave, and would be sure to tell him at their rescheduled meeting.

“Yes and I think it’s wonderful, just like Logan. Now go to bed kiddo,” said Patton putting on his dad voice. Virgil faked an eye roll dripping with attitude and left. “Now about that puzzle,” he said, turning to Logan.

“Onesie date time?” Logan asked, inferencing Patton’s next move.

“Absolutely!” giggled Patton as he kissed his boyfriend. They would go on to be very happy together. Patton helped Logan be okay with himself and know that he was perfectly valid even if he understood facts more than emotions. And Logan treasure one fact above all. Patton loved him and he would always love Patton. Even more than Crofters jam.

Taglist (Please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist!): @completelyclevername

@monstercupcake61176

@sander-sideblog

@trashypansexual

@sanders-sides-thuri

#logicality #prinxiety #logan/patton #logan sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #virgil/roman #virgil sanders #one shot #shortysetter23writes #sanders sides virgil #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides #thomas sanders

205 notes · View notes

lgbtqstuff-va4 · 4 years ago

Text

Vu's HRT Experiences (3 months, July 22 2020)

So to start off, I've decided to do updates every month instead of every 4 weeks... Mostly so I don't have to remember to do these posts as often lmaoooo

Anyways

I've definitely started getting a bit more body hair... The hair "down there" is growing in faster and a bit thicker than it used to and it's v annoying... I've also noticed that like, my toes are getting longer and darker hairs than before. And I'm also finally getting a teeny tiny bit of facial hair(!!) just under my nose. You have to be pretty close to really see it, but it's definitely there. The hairs are short, but they're much darker than usual, and in a mirror I can see a slight "shadow" under my nose. I know that I'm not just imagining the facial hair too, since even my brother I live with (who's a transphobic asshole smh) noticed it... He's the first person besides me who noticed it too, so yeah.

Oh right, about a week after my last post, I was supposed to get the gross thing... And it didn't happen!! Only two months in and the gross thing has stopped entirely (thank goddd).

During the last 2-3 weeks my throat has been feeling sore on and off. It's not a constant feeling, but it's been there a decent chunk of the time. It's also a little bit harder to reach my usual high-pitched notes than before, but it's a very marginal change. (Also side note: everything I read said that your throat will become scratchy-feeling around this time, not sore... I'm pretty sure that "scratchy" means your throat will feel hoarse, not sore... It's not quite the feeling that I expected, but it still doesn't feel great either way, tbh.)

Uhhh I've also had occasional pains in various parts of my body for the last 3 weeks or so. It's happened in my legs, arms, and torso, and I'm assuming that that's my body's way of saying, "I'm moving some body fat around btw". And oh god the cramping. Y'all. I'll get these occasional cramps in my stomach area, and they hurt pretty bad. The feeling usually lasts a good minute or two, and they suck 😔 (pensive emoji).

Hdjfjjfhdhhf I'm trying to remember anything else that's been happening.... My libido is starting to kind of flatten out, I think? It's still kinda up there, but it's been calming down a bit. Ohhh right! Uhh I've been more irritable as of late too. So yeah.

I don't think there's anything else really happening rn, so I guess... I'll see y'all again next month. Cya!

#hrt journey #vus hrt experiences #hrt #mine #testosterone #ok to rb #oh and i totally forgot #im not gonna directly use the name of the thing im talking about since it's a triggering topic for me #(it has to do w/ childhood experiences but im not gonna get into that)#uhhh but with that being said #i've noticed that whenever i do 'bathroom stuff' it uhh... smells different #im kinda cringing just typing this tbh but i feel like it's an important thing to add #but yeah #(also i'm gonna add the 'tw body fluids' tag to this now since i was talking about... that substance)#tw body fluids #started t on april 21 2020

0 notes

tomhollandish · 8 years ago

Text

Tessellate | Part 2

Part 1 / Part 2

Summary: You, Tom and Harrison are in quite the predicament when you unexpectedly meet your best friends other best friend. Sometimes, interests can overlap. Part two of three.

Word count: 4,280

Warnings: Cursing

He wakes up on the couch, of all places, tangled up in sheets he never remembered grabbing. His head doesn’t hurt, but there is an extreme amount of sunlight dripping through the windows. It blinds him for a moment, before he jolts awake.

“Shit,” he coughs, rolling onto his side, and incidentally, right onto the floor. There’s a plush rug to break his fall, but Harrison Osterfield still hisses in pain. His phone has landed face down, and he gingerly picks it up, hoping to god the screen isn’t cracked.

It isn’t. But there are two notifications. One from you, and one from Tom.

Harrison blinks, wondering if it’s just merely a coincidence that his two best friends have posted something mere minutes apart. Clearly Tom has left for the morning, as indicated by the quiet nature of the shared flat, and by the fact that it’s twelve twenty-three pm and no one has bothered to wake him up.

Harrison can put two and two together for Tom; it’s pretty simple. But you? He wasn’t aware you had plans. Last night he texted you to make sure you were safe and sound at home, although, he may have over done it.

Did tom just give you the key or did he walk you there

Are you at the apartment yet?

You should have come to the party, they’re playing 80’s music

He remembers those three texts very well, thinking it was a fair amount. But to his horror, they only got worse.

Y/N youre missing outttttt

Hace you gotten home yet?

Did Tom walk you to your place?

Y/n????? Are u okay??

Is Tom still with you??

He bit his lip, closing his eyes in embarrassment. You were probably laughing at how clingy he was, or worse. Maybe you were annoyed by how many texts he had sent, because you only answered that you were at home, and that was nearly an hour after his last text. It couldn’t have taken you that long to get home.

Harrison sighed, trying not to dwell on it. You were both home and unscathed, which was all that mattered.

Standing up and straightening himself out, the blonde stretched, a little peeved at how late he’d woken up. He probably missed the chance to work out, meaning he’d have to carve out time in the afternoon, or at least whenever Tom decided to go. He wished the boy was here, so they could set the days plans, but he supposed Tom was his own person.

He was bothered, however, by something in the back of his mind. It pestered him while he showered and changed, throwing on jeans and a henley, (seeing as you’d neglected to return his sweater.) It took him a moment to remember before he spotted his phone, checking social media for the morning.

His sister was hanging out around London, as told by her Instagram story. Zendaya and Laura had landed in New York, and had stated that they’d be doing reshoots. Harrison wondered briefly if they were allowed to say that much. (Then again Tom had dropped way worse secrets than that)

Tony and Jacob had posted pictures from yesterday, in the Chinese restaurant with the lighting that mode you look like a million dollars, and that made you forget he existed. He thought about it for a moment; the sunset angling on your face, the warm, packed room, and your eyes, which seemed to always be looking at Tom.

Needless to say, he liked the posts. But he didn’t feel too good about it.

He kept scrolling until he came to your post, one of a flower covered balcony, most likely a restaurant, as noted by the people dining in the foreground. The cityscape spread out to the far corners of the picture, and underneath all you’d put was a flower emoji.

Harrison liked it, as well as thousands of other people, (and as well as Tom) scrolling down to the very next image, before quirking a brow.

There was a picture of Tom himself, sitting on an identical balcony surrounded by similar plants. He seemed like a tiny blip compared to the massive buildings and sprawling flowers, but the colorful background was more than enough to warrant thousands more likes.

His caption was funny, but it also startled Harrison: “Someone pointed out that rooftops pics were kind of my thing.” There was no picture credit, but a few comments were quite rousing.

Most of them were asking where he was, and who took the picture, but one person keenly pointed out, “that looks just like @y/n’s pic!!!”

Harrison paused, his thumb moving up and down as he scrolled, checking the resemblance. Sure enough, it was true: the balconies were the same, but clearly in different spots. Both posts had the same lighting, both had similar cityscapes, and some of closer buildings were identifiable in both. But the most damning piece of evidence was that your photos had been liked by each other, and anyone who followed you both could come to that conclusion.

For some reason, panic caught in Harrison’s throat. He was sitting still, utterly so that he felt the need to lock his phone and out it down for a second. He immediately snatched it back up, feverishly scrolling through snapchat until he found your story.

Your snapchat was a private affair, something only your close friends and colleagues got to see. You had posted something nearly five hours ago, and as soon as Harrison opened it his heart dropped.

It was quick, almost too quick to be an accident. Among five second snaps, a three second one of Tom Holland stood out. Harrison screenshotted it, despite knowing that snapchat took record of this. He didn’t care. He needed to make sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him.

The rest of your story was like it always was—pretty sights around the city, outfits you thought were cool, etc. Once Harrison was done, he immediately scrolled to see if Tom had posted anything.

He had: a photo of the food you both had ordered, two lavish plates of breakfast fight for royalty. A king and queen. A couple.

Harrison locked his phone and dropped it on the table, nearly scoffing in disgust. He brushed his lips with his thumb, making a pensive line as he tried to slow down his beating heart. It drowned out all rational thoughts besides “what the fuck?”

When had you both made moves? Why? How, after one day, had the two of you become so attracted to one another? The more Harrison paced the less sense it made. And it made even less sense why he was so hung up on it.

This paused him in his tracks, enough to let him hear the doorknob wiggle, the door opening a split second later as Tom slid in. His shirt and jacket had been the same from earlier, the ones in his insta photo and on your snapchat and god knows where else.

He’d never glared at Tom like this. At least, not that he could remember. He couldn’t remember if he’d ever tried to melt his best friends skin with his stare before, the blue of his eyes shining with malice. Tom turned, almost as if on command, a tiny glimpse of a previous smile fading as he caught the sight of a furious Harrison.

They both blinked, realizing now that even from across the room, the tension between them was thick. There was no real place to start, seeing Tom’s brows furrow in confusion, lips parted to probably ask the question that would detonate the bomb that was Harrison’s emotions.

So Harrison spoke first. “You let me sleep till twelve?”

The confusion on Tom’s face worsened, his head cocked to the side in manner that only fueled the flames. “I woke up on that couch at twelve pm and found you gone. Where did you go?” He didn’t mean to scold, to sound furious, but he was. He truly thought all those acting skills would lead him to conceal his true feels better.

But he’d never felt anything like this before. Not the bullet going through his heart in slow motion as he worked through the reality. Not the fist shaking rage that bubbled in his chest. Not the compete hatred towards another person, especially not Tom. Perhaps the reason he was so hurt was because it was Tom pulling the trigger.

Cruelly, Tom said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His inflection wasn’t cruel, but the words cut like a knife. As thought Tom was so innocent. Harrison could laugh.

Neither of them moved, their stares in a deadlock. Tom broke it, averting his eyes away as he moved towards the kitchen. Harrison watched him, wondering if he was ever going to tell him himself.

That small thought in Harrison’s head was growing, tell him to play it cool, to shrug it off, to apologize. The thought, no, the reason being that whatever it is that had happened wasn’t a big deal. That maybe Tom didn’t see it romantically, that you had initiated it platonically, that it meant nothing.

Do people who’ve never met before go to breakfast as friends? I don’t think so.

“You overslept because you got drunk and couldn’t even make it to your bed, Haz. I let you sleep. Is that such a bloody awful thing to do?” He shrugged with his hands in his pockets, a surefire way of stating that he was pissed. He leaned against the kitchen counter and looked at the blonde until Harrison sighed, sitting back down and dragging a hand over his face.

He muttered, “So where were you?” from under his hand, noting that Tom didn’t answer immediately. Peeking through his fingers, Harrison watched with flickering suspicion as Tom pursed his lips, then scratched his forehead with an anxious expression.

“I was out.” Not a lie, but clearly a clipped version of it to spare Harrison from something. He sighed gutturally, facing his friend with the same ferocity from earlier.

“If you’re going to call me drunk and stand there like you’ve done nothing wrong the least you can do is tell the whole truth,” he snapped, bitter expression against Tom’s shocked features. And then they hardened, in a way Harrison rarely saw. He’d riled him up, a feat that only he could do.

Tom didn’t come close to him, he didn’t scream, or spit, or curse. He said, “I was on a date with Y/N,” which was the worst thing he’s ever done to Harrison.

He blew a steady stream of air from his nose, trying to calm the heart that was cleaving in two in his chest. Somehow, he knew this would happen. Deep down in his gut, it made sense; his best friends would meet, and upon realizing that both of them were different from Harrison, would get along better, together. It was poetic, ironic and tragic. For him, at least.

Harrison knows Tom can tell. They aren’t best friends for no reason. The subtle shift in Harrison’s mood was enough to concern anyone, but Tom wasn’t just anyone.

“No,” the blonde thought bitterly. “He’s more famous, and more liked, and gets what he wants.” He stood abruptly after that, his head ducked down so that he couldn’t catch the glance Tom was sending him. He was sure it was full of pity and had an apology coming right after, but he couldn’t hear it.

“Harrison,” it was soft and exasperated, sending a shiver down his spine. Tom hardly ever used his entire name, never to his face. There was a wrongness about it, a distance that was palpable. He felt something prick behind his eyes, and then he heard the slam of the door.

Everything felt detached, fragmented from point A to point B. He couldn’t think of what to do now that he’d exhausted the only place he could sulk in. There was one place he could go, but it was like walking into a lion’s den with raw meat around his shoulders. It was ridiculous and self-deprecating and he was already walking towards your flat before he had the insight to stop.

You’re situated in lower Manhattan, washed in golden light from the afternoon sun. Harrison shields his face, having left his sunglasses back at the flat. It shouldn’t be a big deal, but the more the sun flashes in his eyes, the more he remembers his frenzied state of panic and heartbreak.

He must love that feeling, considering that he’s punching in the number to your floor, head reeling with possible openers. He could just waltz in and act like everything was fine, as though he was just paying a visit.

But you, like Tom, would be able to see through the façade. Harrison swiped his thumb across his lip and sighed, lifting his head for a moment just as the elevator doors opened.

And your stunning eyes stared back at him. No, not stunning, but stunned. They flicker up in a quick second before you steep back, and he steps forward. A smile creeps onto your face before your eyebrows dip. The expression is familiar, safe, and also excruciating. His heart mangles when you place a hand on your hip, appraising him.

“Fancy meeting you here. I was literally on my way to your place.” You really can’t know how much those words tear him up. “Your place,” he rolled the words around in his mind. Was she going for him, or for Tom?

The bitterness of it all caused him to stalk into the hall, plastering on a smile that wavered. “Saved you the trip, did I?” He doesn’t turn to face you, he only walks in the direction (he thinks) your flat is in. You don’t move for a moment, the hesitation telling him everything he needs to know.

You weren’t going for him.

It’s blatantly obvious now that he has the whole picture. He wondered what he would have thought if he didn’t know. Would you have pulled the wool over his eyes for another week? Two weeks? The question stirred anger in him.

All of a sudden your hand carefully closed around his wrist, your nail varnish winking at him as he trailed his eyes from your hand to your face. His wrist felt like it was on fire, the skin under your fingers itching. He wanted to snatch his limb back but the look on your face persuaded him otherwise.

“Are you okay?” You’re worried. This shouldn’t make him as heated as it does, your kind gesture that any friend should show the other. It’s what he loves so much about you, the way that your troubled expression looks at him with so much affection. It used to warm him but now it burned, searing his chest physically.

You could see it too. You never took your hand off his arm, and Harrison never protested against it. You lead him into your flat, which was bathed in glorious sun. It was smaller than their place, but it didn’t look less spacious. In fact, he almost preferred your flat: the older wood floors, a red brick interior and warmer tones throughout. God, if he saw anything else so mild and pleasant, he might burst into flames.

You sat him down at the dining room table, with its cool leather chairs that made him sigh in relief. You watched him, eyes flicking across his face. “What’s wrong?” It was a command, as it so often is with you. Your arms are crossed and your stare is narrowed, like you’re x-raying him with your vision. He’d normally scoff and tell you it’s nothing, but in his mind, swimming with too many thoughts and hurting with too much heartache, he forgets that you know him as well as Tom.

“God,” he thinks, pressing the back of his hands to his eyes. “It’s so fucking cyclical.”

“Harrison?” the lulling voice is too much. You reach out to him and he slaps your away; not harshly, but just enough to bewilder you.

Your mouth is hanging open, and no doubt protests are at your lips, but Harrison stands so quickly the chair scrapes back against the floor. “I’m sorry!” he yells out, taking your hands in his. You blink, trying to pull back, but weakly so. He’s not sure if you’re just confused, or if you can also feel the heat of his palms against yours.

“Y/N, I’m sorry, I just, I-” He’s babbling in a way completely unlike him, and you wrap your hands around his bicep. He can feel how much you’re trying to steady him, his body shaking like he’s nervous and restless, a trait he’s never possessed. He’s frantic, because, god, you look so gorgeous and you’re so kind and your hands are soft and you make him so, so warm.

“Harry,” you say tenderly, and it breaks him. Everything that had pent up in the last hour broke like a dam, and it all came rushing forward. And apparently, so did he.

In his mind, he was quick. He thought he would just go for it and be done, and it would all be out there, like cards spread across the table. But he was no superhero, no Flash, no Spider-Man.

Your lips were warm and plush, and he was mesmerized by the idea that he’d never known that. Two more seconds and he would have completely lost himself in kissing you, but there was a strong tug that sent you two flying back.

He watched as you stumbled back, your eyes wide as the moon and twice as bright. Tears pricked in the corner of your eyes and he wanted nothing more than to wipe them away, but when he even leaned closer, you stepped back.

“What is wrong with you!” you screamed, and he frowned. Your volume was a little unwarranted, the harshness of it ringing in his ears like an echo. His heartbeat increased, pounding like a kick drum in his chest.

Now or never.

“Y/N, I think, I’m,-” Harrison tried and failed to articulate the desire that crashed him into your lips. You cut him off, shaking your head so vigorously that your hair shook wildly on your head.

“No, no,” you thundered, your voice loud, but somewhat empty. They were a hollow warning, one that was cracking on the edges. “Do not finish that sentence.”

Irritation rose back up, his fists clenched tightly by his side. Were you not going to hear him out? Were you going to cast him aside, just like that? Did he even matter anymore?

“You don’t know what I was going to say.” Harrison ‘s protest was weak, and he recognized it. Of course you knew. If you didn’t before, you sure did now.

“Oh, yeah, because you completely just kiss someone, and then tell them that you just want to be friends, right? You kiss someone and you tell them you value their friendship. No, I’ve got it all wrong!” The tone you used wasn’t angry. There was a wavering sadness, something building underneath your shouting.

Harrison stepped closer, you stepped back. An elusive dance that twisted his gut. What were you afraid of? Were you scared of him?

“Y/N,” His tone is crystal clear and you buckle, a step back as he moves closer. “Y/N, I really, truly like you.” He makes it clear what he means. There’s no mistaking his connotation. You avert your eyes for a moment, then pick them back up to his face.

“Why are you telling me this now?” Your chin juts forward, stance as hard as steel. His confidence drops, and to make up for it he takes one more step forward. Your next step back is small.

“What’s wrong with now?” He’s dipping into rage now, thinking about how you’ve danced around it for so long. You’ve never mentioned him, never spoke his name. He wants to hear you say it.

“You know exactly what I mean. Why tell me now that I’m dating Tom? What do you have to gain?” The way you say it makes him pause. Starting slightly, he tilts is head to the side, stepping closer. You watch him very carefully, from his feet all the way to his eyes.

“What do you mean? Maybe I just want to get all my feelings out! Maybe I’m putting it all out there, like you should be doing with me.”

“No, nuh-uh,” you wag a finger, those glossy, painted nails reprimanding him. “Don’t turn this around on me Osterfield, this is not my fault.”

“I never said it was!” he raised his hands high for emphasis, pointing a finger back at you. “You’re the one that kept this from me!”

“It’s one date, and it happened today! It’s not in some contract that I have to tell you everything!” You had come closer to him now, nearly shouting in his face. The gap between you two was charged, primed, and ready to go off. The situation was so familiar, yet so hazy and far away. “I would have told you.”

This part was quieter, but Harrison was still pissed. “Would you,” he scoffed mockingly, running a hand through his hair. “Or would you have strung me along for weeks until it was official?”

At this you reared your head back with a snarl. “Strung you along? When have I—I’ve liked you for years Harrison Osterfield, and you think I’m stringing you along? Ha! Look in a mirror, why don’t you!”

Your annoyance didn’t deter him. He was frozen, his brain fried from what you’d just screamed. “What—what did you say?”

You let out a low cry, hands fisted in your hair. “Don’t—don’t make me say it again!” your voice faltered, and he could see just how upset you were. Teardrops fell onto your cheeks and you sniffed. “Don’t act like you didn’t come here for the sole purpose of making me drop Tom.”

“I never said that!” He protested, but it felt half-hearted. Oh, hadn’t he done that, in one way or another? In the back of his mind, somewhere deep in his heart he knew that to be the case. It simply hurt to hear you say it aloud.

“You don’t have to! You do it all the time! You pick and choose where you want me to be, who gets to know me. Well Tom doesn’t. He asked me, right off the bat to come on set with him. When have you ever?”

The last syllables were spat out with so much venom, so much spite, that he knew you’d been saving it for years. His heart bottomed out, his nightmare having come true.

You didn’t need him anymore. This thought terrifies him more than anything else. Your eyes are misty and you’re standing there, like an army of one against him.

“You know that’s not true. How could you believe that shite? When have I ever done that to you?” He pulled your chin up to look at him, his thumb rubbing across your cheek. You looked to the floor. “Y/N, I just- I didn’t want to lose you.”

“I don’t believe you. And even if I did, I’m not yours to be lost.” You still didn’t look at him, your body shaking, eyes shiny and shedding tears, fast. “This isn’t fair, and you know it.”

“Don’t I,” he said with a laugh, but you just stared at him with unchanging eyes. You’d never seemed so cold before. His eyes darted to your lips, and in your already close proximity Harrison closed the gap, this time going for a more proper kiss. Your mouths melded together, your responsiveness, however little, making the moment a thousand times better than the first one.

He could feel your hesitation, or perhaps it was just his own reflected in your actions. Neither of you moved your hands, keeping the position as though this moment was a blip, a glitch in reality. Harrison skimmed his teeth over your bottom lip as you pulled back, eyes rimmed red from crying.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and you ripped your face out of his hand.

“No, you’re not.” You knew him well. With crossed arms you turned away from him, and his heart clenched even further. The move was stupid, the kiss was stupid, coming here was a stupid, stupid mistake.

But it was one he could live with, as long as you knew.

You pressed two fingers to your lips and then glared in his direction. “You don’t get to do this. He’s you’re friend. Your best friend”

“And you’re mine.” He likes the way he says it, but you clearly don’t. Your whole face seems to say the same thing.

“I’m not yours.” A simple, clear sentence. Harrison walks past you, knowing there’s nothing more he can do that could make the situation better. (There’s plenty more he can do that’s worse)

“But you were, once,” he takes your last words as an eviction, and makes his way back out the way he came. He can hear the door slam behind him for the second time today. He calls the elevator to your floor, all of his energy seeping out of him, the anger having rubbed him raw and the adrenaline leaving him with a migraine.

It’s possible that he’s alienated the two people he cares about most. All for himself.

“Fuck,” Harrison stutters out, the full weight of his consequences closing in on him, as the elevator doors shut tight.

taglist: @phasika123r5, @mischeif-managed1987

#YALL #i fucking uploaded this three times #once on the wrong ass blog #and the second time it didn't work #tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland fic #harrison osterfield #harrison osterfield fic #harrison osterfield imagine #tom holland x reader #harrison osterfield x reader #tom x reader #harrsion x reader

222 notes · View notes