This Scene Got Me Feeling Like A Victorian Man Seeing An Ankle

this scene got me feeling like a victorian man seeing an ankle 😔😔😔

(i need him to whimper in my ear like a needy bitch)

also happy holidays everybody it’s officially that time of the year because i said so

realest thing i think i’ve ever seen

AWOOGA😍😍😍

mike schmidt secretly sings along when he listens to one direction with abby

me when hot men:

CAN YOU DO CLAPTON PUTTING A TON OF THOUGHT INTO A SUPER CUTE LITTLE GIFT BASKET AND AT THE VERY BOTTOM IT CAN BE LIKE A NOTE OF HIM CONFESSING OR SUM🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

ugh yes i love this request!! hope you won’t mind me adding some holiday spice into it! hope you like it ☆ (borders made by @saradika-graphics)

from me, to you

word count: 1.4k

pairing: clapton davis x gn! reader

warnings: just some light swearing! some absolutely cliché fluffy shit head ❤️

—————

clapton davis had never really celebrated the christmas season. he never hated the holiday, but it was never his favorite. maybe it was the advertising; the loud, bright commercials and ads on the radio. maybe it was the cheesy music. it was the one time he refused to listen to the radio, in fear the start of “all i want for christmas is you” would be playing. or maybe it was the fact he knew he was desperately in love with you, and he did not want to spend the holiday season alone. again. without you.

yeah, you were friends. best friends. his confidant. his partner in crime. but he could never deny that he wanted to take it a step further. scratch that—five steps further.

he could never get over the way your hair flowed on windy days. it wasn’t like those scenes in the movies, but it always made you smile. god, how he loved your smile. but how would we tell you all this? would he tell you all this? today was december twentieth. which means it’s not only five days before christmas, but it’s almost the last day before winter break, the twenty-first. the last day he can get to be with you before you leave for the holidays.

he had to tell you. there was no doubting it.

clapton davis was gonna confess to you tomorrow. and you had no idea.

but how? would he tell you face to face? no. he wouldn’t be able to look in your beautiful eyes if you decided to reject him. maybe a text? no, that’s too douchey. even for clapton.

then it came to him.

a gift basket! and a letter! what’s more romantic than that? he’ll do it during your annual gift exchange you both do and (have done for years) in the morning. he knows the way your face lights up whenever he gives you something small, like a piece of gum. how would you react if he gave you something actually meaningful? oh, how he could get lost in that question for days.

but there was no time to waste.

the sooner he got this off his chest, the sooner you might be in his arms.

————————

you couldn’t get enough of the holidays. that was the one thing you and clapton didn’t have in common, you thought as you walked down the halls, looking for him.

you were wearing your favorite christmas/winter sweater and a very festive hat. it was the last day before break. everyone was in the festive season, even principal verge. that…that was a little unnerving.

but besides that, you were completely filled with joy. school is almost out, it’s the holiday season, and clapton—

oh, yea. clapton hasn’t showed up yet. that wasn’t unusual, but you had expected him to be here as it was the morning of your gift exchange. you always met up at the front of the school, a while before class started.

you hadn’t gotten him a whole lot. just a cd for this new artist he liked. you could barely keep up with how many he listened to. he was never big on receiving presents. but since it was your senior year, you wanted to do something special. yeah, that was the reason. not because you had slowly developed feelings for him, but because it was senior year.

…

yeah, you couldn’t even believe your own bullshit.

you hoped that he would notice your little splurge and take it as a hint. but who’re you kidding? this is clapton davis. he would need a lot more than that. just as you’re getting lost in thought, you feel a tap on your shoulder. the tap turns into a shove, and you now know who it is behind you.

“finally! looked like you were in some real deep thought, there.” clapton says.

“yeah, thinking about crazy things, like where the hell you are since you’re two minutes late.” you respond, holding up your phone and showing the time. nothing could get past you.

he loved that about you.

“oh, i’m sorry. do you not want this gift basket that i totally haven’t been working on for the past day?” he asks with a tone and smile that makes you want to punch him in the face and kiss him all at the same time.

it takes you a moment to register what he’s even holding up.

it’s a relatively small bag with tissue in it, but you can see some of the gifts peeking out of it. the fact there’s even multiple things surprises you. and clapton realizes that.

“yeah, i kind of went overboard. i just…wanted to do something, uh, special.”

you take it from him, your mouth still open from surprise and genuine happiness. you’re about to look inside as you remember that there’s a gift for him inside your backpack. now you’re starting to feel like your present isn’t as good as you thought it was. you take out the cd and hand it to him.

“well, here you go. i know it isn’t much, but i wanted to do something special too, y’know? sorry if it’s—“

but he cuts you off.

“it’s great—amazing. i love it. thank you.”

and you can tell he says it with meaning. the smile, his tone, everything. god, this boy was going to be the death of you if neither of you didn’t fess up.

“well, don’t just stand there. open your gift!” he says, enthusiastically.

you smile at him, and begin to pull out the tissue. one by one, you start to pull out the myriad of gifts. your favorite candy, your favorite snacks. the usual. then, the real gifts stared to appear. hair bands, since he knew you lost so many, your favorite band cassette, and a bracelet he knew you had wanted for forever. your smile grows wider and wider as each gift comes out of the bag.

clapton’s standing there anxiously, waiting to see what you’ll say.

you reach the end of the bag, and find an envelope with your name on it. before you can open it, clapton’s already taking it out of your hand.

“don’t read that yet!” he yells, almost a little too loud.

you’re a bit taken aback by his response. what was so sensitive that he had to quite literally snatch it out of your hand? it couldn’t be what you were thinking, right?

“i mean, don’t—not yet. it’s special. for later.” he says, stuttering through the sentence and handing the letter back to you.

not sure how to respond, you let out a small “okay, then.” before standing awkwardly in silence.

“thank you,” you say. “for the gifts. i can tell you put a lot of thought into them.” you cross your arms across your chest as you say this.

visibly, clapton’s anxiety dissipates and it looks like a weight has lifted off of his shoulders.

“good, because I don’t know what I would do if you hated it.” he responds. you both laugh at this. thank god, the awkward moment has passed. “about the letter—“ he starts, but you’re quick to cut him off. “oh no, i get it. can’t have me getting all sentimental around you, huh?” you joke. he’s grateful you handled that situation, he probably would’ve just made it worse.

“i’ll catch you later?” clapton asks.

“definitely.” you say, smiling.

the bell rings, signaling that school is starting. dammit, has it really been that much time already?

as you both part to your separate classes, you can’t help but feel curious about why he was so insistent on you not reading the letter. it couldn’t have been that bad, right? as you slowly walk to class, your curiosity gets the best of you, and you take out the envelope, open it, unfold the piece of paper, and begin reading. at first, it’s simple.

“merry christmas. i hope you liked the basket. you better, because…because i’m your best friend. anyways, hope you like this.

-your best friend, clapton”

it’s written in surprisingly good hand writing, but in small letters, you can barely make out the words “flip the page”. interesting. maybe it’s a stupid p.s. or something. but you’re quickly mistaken, because as you flip the page, you realize this is no additional information. it’s enough words to fill an essay.

you read the whole thing, every single syllable.

you were sure that you had read it wrong the first time. so you read it a second time. . . and a third time. . .and a fourth time. nothing about it had changed. it still had the same ending.

“i’m pretty sure i’m in love with you.” it said.

fuck class. class could wait.

you had to find clapton.

part 2! ☆