and i've been staring at the word 'always' for too long now and it looks wrong

thecoolestgay  asked:

Can you please write some adorable reddie cuddling fluff? I've been reading tons of angst and I'm gonna cry 😭

with pleasure my dude

(FYI - they’re a little older in this, nearly 20, as theres a few lil mentions of smexy times and some teasing and making out etc because i don’t write that very much and wanted a change, sue me)

please listen to tee shirt by birdy to get super cutesy vibes and all the feels <3

It was still dark out when Eddie woke up, squinting up to look out the window at the early morning sky. He checked his watch, seeing it was 5:45 am, and smiled. He still had hours to kill before waking up. He felt something move from underneath him and he turned his head to come face to face with Richie’s sleeping form. And he smiled.

Richie had snuck in again last night, just before midnight like clockwork, and begged Eddie to just fall asleep on top of him. So he had, and god was he happy he did. Eddie had fallen asleep on his front, leaning on Richie’s shoulder and tucking his face into his neck, softly sighing as Richie stroked the side of his face to help him fall asleep. He had slept for a good few hours until he woke up, but those few hours were pure bliss. 

Richie shifted again and let out some air through his nose before blinking open his eyes slightly. He saw Eddie staring at him and he smiled.

“You’re staring again.” He whispered. 

“You look cute in the morning.” Eddie said quietly and Richie chuckled, his chest rumbling and making butterflies erupt in Eddie’s stomach. 

“Thank you. You look pretty adorable too.” Richie said, pressing a kiss to Eddie’s forehead. “What time is it? Do we have to get up now?” Richie asked sadly and Eddie shook his head, holding his wrist with the watch on to Richie’s face.

“We have ages. Go back to sleep if you want.” He said and Richie shrugged.

“Don’t wanna if you’re gonna be awake.”

“I’ll fall asleep too. You know I can’t stay away for too long.” Eddie pointed out, and snuggled into Richie’s neck, pressing a kiss at the base of his throat. Richie hummed in appreciation and rested his hand on the side of Eddie’s face, stroking the hairs just behind his ear. Eddie loved it when Richie was gentle with him, compared to how brash and loud he could be outside or with the others. He loved that side of Richie, it was fun and adventurous and he never knew what to expect from him, but soft, sleepy, Richie was his favourite. 

Eddie started pressing soft kisses across Richie’s neck, listening to the soft noises he was making, and then kissed behind his ear, making him shiver. Richie moved away slightly and Eddie whined, trying to kiss him again.

“I’m way too tired to flip you over right now, please don’t kiss me there until I’m wide awake and ready to go.” Richie joked, but Eddie stopped, knowing he was right. Even though Richie was more dominant in more than one aspect, when Eddie tried to take control he was putty in his hands. Eddie settled on resting the side of his face on the pillow and just staring up at his boyfriend instead. He was so beautiful, all freckles and pale skin and bright, brown eyes. He looked different without his glasses, but a good different. Older, more mature. Less like ‘Trashmouth Tozier’ or ‘Bucky Beaver’ that he had been known as during school. Now, he was just Richie. And Eddie loved just Richie. 

“What are we doing today again?” Richie asked after a short while of peaceful silence.

“Bev asked us to come to the movies with her and then we’re helping Stan pack for College. After that, nothing.” Eddie said sleepily. Richie nodded.

“Wanna get dinner tonight?”

“Not another pizza, Richie. My face is already breaking out from yesturday’s binge.”

“No,” Richie snorted. “Not pizza. Like, real food. From a restaurant.” Eddie smirked and looked up at him.

“Are you asking me out on a date, Tozier?” Eddie nearly died when he saw Richie’s face turn a little pink.

“Would that be so terrible?”

“Only a little bit.” Eddie teased and Richie rolled his eyes, gently flicking Eddie’s ear.


“You love me.” Eddie hummed and Richie smiled, kissing his forehead.

“Yeah, unfortunately.” Eddie scoffed and started to scoot away from him.

“I’m never snuggling with you again.” He threatened and Richie grabbed him before he could move further away, flipping them over and pinning Eddie underneath him. Eddie let out a breath, not expecting that at all, as Richie beamed down at him. “I thought you were too tired?”

“I perk up when you start getting fiesty and bratty.” Richie said and Eddie tutted at him.

“Bratty, pft! As if!” Richie leaned down rubbed his nose against Eddie’s fondly, making his heart melt.

“You’re so cute when you try to prove me wrong.”

“I’m not cute, I’m manly!”

“Shut up, Eddie. You’re adorable.” Richie said, kissing Eddie’s jaw. “Cute, cute, cute!” He kissed his nose, his cheek, and his collarbone for each word and Eddie bit his lip, holding back a smile.

“If the others could see us right now they’d puke.” He said and Richie laughed.

“I think Stan would bust a nut, being in the same room as us would be the most action he’s gonna get.”

“Don’t be mean!” Eddie frowned, swatting Richie’s hand. “Stan is gonna find somebody soon, just you wait.”

“He still won’t get as much as I do.” Richie raised an eyebrow, making Eddie go red.

“Shut up. I just put up with your horny ass because I have too.”

“I never hear you complaining, like, in fact, I always hear you telling me not to stop.”

“Okay, that’s enough.” Eddie warned, pointing a finger up at him.

“Billy Boy would be so shocked at the filthy words that have come out of your little mouth, Eds. He’d be asking everyone where his precious little best friend has gone!” Richie grinned. “The answer, by the way, is underneath me. Or on top of me when I’m lazy. Like the good boy he is.”

“Do you kiss your Mom with that trashy mouth?” Eddie asked. Richie shrugged.

“No, but I kiss yours. And man does she love it-”

“Don’t make me say beep beep, you’ve been so good recently.” Eddie groaned and Richie sighed, before flopping onto his side, his arms getting tired. Eddie slowly moved back so he was lying beside him and reached up to move some of Richie’s wild hair out of the way. “You’re beautiful.” Eddie whispered, and for once, Richie didn’t make a joke. He just smiled.

“So are you. I got real lucky.”

“Yeah, you did.”

“Shut up.” Richie teased, pressing his lips to Eddie’s, the two of them lazily moving and intertwining hands. When they eventually broke apart, Richie closed his eyes as Eddie carried on playing with his hair. “Can we, just…stay here forever?”

“The bed sheets would get so gross.” Eddie grimaced and Richie laughed.

“I hope you never change, Eds.” He said and kissed him again. Eddie deepened the kiss, running his tongue over Richie’s and pulling his body flush against his. He sighed into his boyfriends mouth and then pulled away, grinning like an idiot. 

“Yeah, let’s stay here forever.”


This for my wonderful Detour anon! I promised a follow up to THIS and here it is. I meant for this to turn into fluff and that didn’t happen cause it was already so long. This installment is set in “Milagro”. Thank you, Detour anon and all you other readers for your continued support. You guys are all the best. 

She is dying.

Hands are clawing at her heart, most intimately, roughly reaching inside. She is fighting against the shadows, doesn’t understand anything but her will to survive, the need to make it stop. There is no pain as adrenaline rushes through her, but she smells the blood. The metallic taste tickles in her nose, lands on her tongue and makes her sick. She spits out instinctively as her hand lets go of her spent weapon, empty now, useless as it falls down next to her with a clang.

She is dying.

Her heart fights hard, beats strongly against the invading hands, and there is no sense in any of this, no reason, or logic. The beat of her heart drumming in her ears, Scully feels herself slip away. Exhaustion settles over her, gently, like a soft blanket, as her eyes drift close. I’m sorry, Mulder. I’m sorry. She listens to her heart beat, beat, beat, and lets go.

She is dying.

The thought settles in her mind, peacefully. She still hears her heart, beating strongly, thrumming in perfect rhythm. Warmth spreads through her as a breath of air caresses her cheek. Mulder, she thinks. She thinks of him, longs for his presence, and then she feels him. It’s his hand on her chest, searching, his other hand on her cheek, hoping. His heart misses a beat, makes up for it with a faster rhythm a moment later. It has been months since she’s felt this. If she’d been granted one last wish, it would have been this; it would have been Mulder’s touch.

For all the times Mulder doesn’t listen to her, didn’t, he listened that one time. Don’t touch me, she told me, give me time, she pleaded. He had given her time, and space, a plenty. Always making sure not to touch her. Every once in a while she’d seen his struggle, a shadow passing over his face, as he busied his hands with a file, buried them in his pockets. Anything to keep his hands off of her. No more. Now Scully becomes alive under his touch. She feels her lungs fill with air as his fingers crawl forward through the blood, fear slowing him down. Before he reaches his destination, Scully’s eyes pop open. Her first breath is sudden, too sudden, and she almost chokes. When her eyes find his, uncomprehending and scared, she first fears she really is dead. But there is her heart again, beating against her ribcage furiously, alive, alive, alive. Her arms reach out to him and he lets her in, hugs her as tightly as she lets him, but not as hard as she’s clinging to him. The tears come unasked, bring heavy sobs, deep sorrow. She grabs for him, tries to get even closer, and he hold on to her, just as desperately.

They don’t talk about it. Ever. He takes her to the hospital, his eyes watchful over her, one of his hands always hovering close, sometimes touching. She refuses to stay there, wants to go home.

“Do you want me to take you to your mother’s?” She shakes her head, stares at her reflection in the car window. There’s no way she could even begin to explain what has happened to her. The doctor assured her that nothing was the matter, no wounds, no scars. She’d washed off most of the blood before they went to the ER. No traces. Nothing wrong with her.

“No, I just want to go home.” They barely exchange words, but Mulder’s hand finds its spot on her back the moment she gets out of the car. She knows he’ll take his hand away if she asks him to. He has before, after all. Him keeping his distance is no longer what she wants.

“Do you need anything?” He lingers around the couch, unwilling to leave, and Scully realizes that she doesn’t want him to go either. She doesn’t analyze it, not now, doesn’t question whether she wants him around because of what has happened with Padgett or if it’s because she’s missed him. She’s pretended that she doesn’t need him like this. Told herself, and him, that she wanted distance; let’s not make it personal, she’d told him, throwing his own words back at him. She doesn’t know when it happened, suddenly or gradually, but she can see in his eyes, knows her own heart, that whether they like it or not, it is personal. It’s time to accept it.  

“You can stay… if you want.” She’s not going to ask him. She is not there yet.

“I’d love that.” He tells her, his voice even. She nods at him, gives him a small smile, and watches as he takes off his jacket and gets comfortable on her couch. The couch is too small for him in every way and she is almost tempted to invite him into her bed. She is definitely not there yet, though. Instead, she strolls into her bedroom, gathers a pillow and a blanket and hands them to him. She makes sure their fingers touch this time, revels in the small contact, the tingle it causes. She’s not going to deprive herself of this any longer. He thanks her silently and glances up at her.

“I’ll be here.” He assures her, repeating the words he said when she asked him for more time months ago. She knows now that he means it; knows that he’s working hard to earn back her trust, willingly following her directions. So it has to be her. It has to be her choice, her move. Looking at him, she wishes she could tell him that she never once doubted him. That she never once stopped trusting him. But she doesn’t want to lie. She promised herself they’d be fine, and here they are, another life-threatening moment later, and they really are.  

“Thank you, Mulder.” Scully tells him softly and leans forward. She means to kiss his cheek, and does so, but once her lips have touched his skin, she changes directions. She finds his lips and grazes them briefly. When she lets go again, albeit reluctantly, she grants him a smile that he reciprocates easily. She squeezes his hand, leaving a promise with him that this is merely the beginning, the start of something new, before she goes into her bedroom alone, closing the door behind her softly.

anonymous asked:

hi! my depression's been acting up lately and I've been having a really tough time. I know you've written similar things before but i could really use a comfort fic. Most likely with lots of hugs and honest feelings and talking. Thank you and keep up the great work!

“I wanted to,” she’d half choked out, half snapped. Wanted to tell her. About the cheating.

And she meant it.

Sort of.

She’d wanted to tell her because Alex had said she didn’t want there to be any secrets between them.



Secrets, like Maggie’s father. Like cheating on Emily.

Like the senior guys on the football field when she was a freshmen – because she was fourteen, she was a freshman, and a tiny one at that.

Like getting spit at in the street.

Like her depression.

Like her anxiety.

Like her tendency to bottle everything up until she just bursts.

Sometimes – well, once – by cheating.

Usually – much more than once – by punching, by drinking, by punishing herself, by pushing people away (hence the cheating).

She’d wanted to tell her.

But telling her would be a can of worms, a bombshell of damage, that she’s terrified will make Alex run. Will make Alex look at her like…

Will make Alex lose that spark in her eye, that smile, that softness. For her.

But when Alex shows up at her door – “Maggie, come on, I know you’re home” – Maggie has to text her instead of call out to her, because she can’t open her mouth right now. Doesn’t have the energy for it.

Barely has the energy to move her fingers over her phone’s screen.

Come in. I gave you the key for a reason.

Alex is in faster than Maggie even thought the text would send, and her eyes are swooping over Maggie’s body, scanning for damage, for injuries, for pain.

But it’s all inside.

“Maggie, what happened? You weren’t answering your texts, your captain said you called in sick but you weren’t sick this morning – “

Maggie just looks up and Maggie just stares, and tries not to let her chin tense, her lip wobble. But they do.

“Can I touch you?” Alex is asking, because Alex doesn’t miss a thing.

Maggie nods and she sighs with unexpected relief when suddenly she’s enveloped in Alex’s arms, when suddenly she’s gripping at her like she’ll drown if she lets go, and she will, she will, she will.

“I just hate it sometimes, Alex,” Maggie chokes, hating herself for her weakness, for her whining, for her patheticness.

“Hate what, Maggie?” Alex asks, trying to pull back so she can look at Maggie’s face, but Maggie doesn’t let her, because she can’t see those perfect eyes, that perfect face, right now, because seeing would mean Alex seeing her, and she is messy and she is a mess and she is damaged and she is damage itself.

“Life,” Maggie chokes, and she feels Alex tense.

She braces for goodbye, she braces for ableist shaming, she braces for this is too much, you’re too much, you’re not worth it, you’re not worth anything.

But she should know Alex better, because Alex just hugs her closer.

Alex just turns her face to kiss her temple. Alex just strokes her hair and whispers sweet nothings, sweet everythings, into her ear as she starts to shake, as she starts to break, as she starts to let the bottle burst through her tear ducts, through her chest wracking, through her hands grabbing, holding, needing.

“Did something happen? Or does this… do you get this feeling a lot?”

Maggie’s stomach churns, because she knows what Alex is asking.

Did something happen, or are you crazy?

“I’m not crazy,” she defends against an attack that isn’t there, and she feels Alex shake her head, and Alex succeeds in pulling back this time, in taking Maggie’s face between her hands and making sure she’s looking into Alex’s warm, warm eyes.

“Depression isn’t crazy, Maggie. Or whatever word fits for you. And hell, if anyone has a monopoly on crazy in this relationship, it’s me. You should see my rap sheet with the DEO shrink.”

“Psychiatrists don’t have… rap sheets, Alex, that’s not… how it works.”

“But it made you smile.”


“Shrink says I have BPD. And PTSD. All the acronyms. Kara has a few, too, but those are for her to tell you about if she wants – my point is, I get it, Maggie. I hate life so much sometimes I just… were you afraid? To tell me?”

Maggie sniffs and lifts her hand to her face, but Alex stops her and wipes her nose with her own sleeve, and Maggie has never been so moved.

“Well you know how much I love talking about myself, Danvers.”

“Maggie, I meant what I said. I’m here to help you heal. Even if there are things you can’t heal from. Even if there are things you’re always gonna to experience. Okay?”

“But why? I… I have zero emotional intelligence and I attach super quickly – hell, if I ever went to therapy they’d probably knock me with a BPD diagnosis of my own – and I do stupid things like cheat and lie about my parents and how do you know, Alex? That I won’t cheat on you after five years? Because you want to take the next steps with me, because I can’t handle it and I bottle things up and I lash out because I don’t know how else to end things, how else to destroy everything? Because that’s what I do, Alex. I destroy things. People. I destroy people.”

Alex strokes her hair and she takes a long, quiet breath, and she kisses her temple and she pulls her back into a soft, passionate hug.

“I don’t know, Maggie. I don’t know that you won’t cheat on me after five years because I want to take the next step with you. But I do know that we’ve taken a lot of steps already, and you’ve already stopped leaving the house and going to the couch when you need to walk away. And I know that you’re wrong. About yourself. You don’t destroy things, Maggie. You maybe don’t always make the best decisions, but you know what I see? I see the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen trying so hard to navigate so much pain. And sometimes, you’re gonna make mistakes. I will, too. You’re human, Maggie. And I love you for it. I love you for how human you remind me that I am. Because I forget, too. So maybe… maybe we can remind each other?”

“You… love me?”

It’s Maggie that’s pulling back so they can make eye contact now, Maggie with the wide eyes and stilled breath, Maggie framing Alex’s face with trembling hands.

“Yeah, Sawyer. I love you. I’m soft on you. That okay with you?”

“Only if it’s okay that I love you back.”

“That’s more than okay, Maggie. So much more than okay. And you’re gonna be, too. I promise.”

[ @the-mic-drop this might not be what you had in mind, but I hope it’s satisfactory. also, I thank @nervmaid for this. ]

A rather sudden bang distracts Roadhog from his novel.

Dog-earing the page, he sets the worn book down on his belly and sighs through his mask. Two years of playing bodyguard has granted him enough experience to distinguish one bang from another. Explosions, while outside the norm for the everyday citizen, have a surprising array of sounds that Roadhog has become well acquainted with. If anyone cared to ask, he’s sure he could name every type of explosive he’s heard. In fact, it has come to the point where he could give a rough estimate on how much damage a bomb might inflict from its noise alone, and he supposes that might be an impressive feat if he weren’t so invested in making sure the creator of said bomb remains in one piece.

Fortunately for him (and his boss, he must concede), the bang does not belong to any sort of explosive.

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anonymous asked:

if requests are still open can i request some comforting headcanons with todoroki, bakugou and midoriya for a fem s/o who has to deal with a bad home situation like her dad kinda yells at her a lot but she usually keeps it in but she can't take it anymore and needs to be comforted? (sorry this was kinda detailed i've been having a hard time at home recently and your blog usually comforts me so thank you and sorry if this was confusing or anything)

((hey bud, I’m sorry about your situation. I kinda know how you feel a little bit lol. if you ever need to talk to anyone about stuff, feel free to im me any time))

“You’ve been acting strange all day, [Name]. What’s wrong?”
You looked up from your phone, surprised to see a look of blatant, obvious concern on Todoroki’s face. You hadn’t been acting strange. Had you been acting strange? “Nothing’s wrong, I’m just tired.”
“Tired of?” Shit. Since when was Todoroki good at reading the mood? “Seriously, what’s the matter?… Is everything okay at home?”
Goddammit, he was onto you. You sighed, feeling your shoulders slump inward. “It’s, uh, it’s been a rough week, dear. Really loud around the house, you know?”
He sat down next to you, gently pulling you to his chest. “Do you want to talk about it? Or just sit here?”
“I don’t think I’m cut out to be a hero. I mean, if I get all worked up by my dad, how’m I gonna deal with actual villains? When I’m in physical danger instead of just getting yelled at, you know? Maybe I shouldn’t be here.”
“Hey, it’s okay. Those are different situations, [Name]. It’s harder when it’s someone close to you, as opposed to some random person trying to kill you. It’s okay.”
Well, Todoroki always had a way with words. “Yeah, but if I’m this faint-hearted…”
“Faint-hearted? Who’s faint-hearted?” He jerked back to look at you, and his face barely fell short of minor offense. “I don’t see a faint-hearted person in the room. [Name], dealing with fathers is hard. Trust me, you can still become a hero with a shitty dad.”
You knew you looked a little pathetic, but how could you help it? “You think so?”
“Hey, I’m doing it, aren’t I?”
“Yeah, you’re right. I forgot about that, sorry.”
He must have tried to kiss your cheek, but missed and got you on the corner of your mouth instead. “I don’t mind that not being the first thing people remember about me. Are you feeling better?”
“…Yeah. Thanks, Todoroki. Love you.”
“Love you too.”

“Can we keep it down a little, Bakugou? You’re being a little too loud right now.”
“Huh?! I’m not being loud at all!”
You flinched. For such a sweet boyfriend, he sure did yell a lot. “I mean, a little… Actually a lot. Your voice is really loud right now and it’s kind of hurting my ears and could you stop please?”
He turned toward you, sharp eyes boring into your soul. “What’s your problem? You good?”
“It’s your shithead of a dad, isn’t it? What’d he do now?” An immediate reaction. His fists were clenched, eyes narrowed. He was on the offensive. “I’ll get him. What did say to you?”
“Nothing! Nothing. Just… I should be studying more, probably. Not doing too good.”
His voice lowered almost immediately. “I’ll help you. I’m at the top of the class, I’m plenty damn capable.”
You quirked an eyebrow. “You’d tutor me? Seriously?”
“Yeah! What kind of a boyfriend would I be if I didn’t help you tell your dad to shove it? Let’s start tonight.”
“Wait, tonight? Can’t we start tomorrow?”
“No! If we start now you can ace that test on Thursday! Come on, get a book!”
You didn’t know you’d unleash militant teacher Bakugou, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel good to have someone care so much. “Fine, whatever. Love you, babe.”
“Come on!”
“…Yeah ditto.”

“[Name], hey, how’re you doi—sleeping. You’re sleeping.”
You lifted your head up from the foot of your bed, blearily staring at Midoriya. “Huh? No no I’m good. Long day. Long month.”
He came and sat next to you, trying to straighten out your hair. “What’s wrong?”
“Dad. Just dad.” You grumbled, and Midoriya noticed the dark circles under your eyes. “He’s been annoying and loud and I’m tired, tired, tired,” You spat bitterly. “Do you have headphones I can borrow?”
He laid down next to you, slinging an arm over your waist. “Are you okay?”
You grimaced. “Can I come over some time? Like, not even to spend the night, just stay really late and go home in the dead of night?”
“Wouldn’t that just give him more reason to yell at you?”
“Don’t care. If it all happens at once it’s fine. When it’s spread out over the day is when it sucks. I’m not even gonna ask to stay for dinner, can I just chill in your room for a few hours?” It occurred to you as soon as the words left your mouth that you were sort of imposing. “Oh shit, didn’t mean to invite myself over like that.”
He shook his head. “No, you can come over. My mom loves you, she’d probably prepare the guest room for you and everything.”
Inko did seem to enjoy having you over a lot. “For real?”
“Yeah! Come over this weekend if you want! Come spend time with my parent, she’s great!” Mama’s boy. “If it’ll help with your situation, you can come over whenever you like.”
You pressed your face into his neck, kissing just below his ear. You loved doing that, he always shivered a little bit. “Thanks Izuku. You’re the best.”

We Don't Have to Choose Just One

Also on AO3.
This is the @miraculousfluffmonth  Aug 14 prompt, telling the truth.

“Hey Chat, can we talk a minute?” Ladybug asked as she landed near him on the Eiffel Tower.  They were meeting up for their usual mid-week check in and joint patrol, and there was something she’d been putting off bringing up for far too long.

“We can talk for more than a minute,” he said with a smirk.  "You have my absolute attention, My Lady.“  He bowed to her.

She sat down patting the space next to her.  "Why so far away, Chaton?”  She’d gotten good at keeping her Ladybug and Marinette nicknames for him straight, though she occasionally dreamed of outing herself by using the wrong one.

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it’s something of a cliché to say that we all think we’re monsters [pike’ahlia]

Vex knows.

It is not so hard a thing, to see yourself reflected in the facets of others; she has seen herself in her the strained lines of her brother’s laugh and the twist of his shoulder when he throws a dagger and the roll of his silent feet upon the earth. She knows how to find her own doubt in Keyleth’s bold uncertainty, and her lingering shadows in Percy’s stalwart refusal to speak of the past, and her brimming anger in Grog’s rage-blind eyes. Even Scanlan’s gilded tongue holds slivers of her silvered speech. 

For all this familiarity, rough-edged figures cut from cloth that is not the same but similar, is something different to see it in Pike.

Pike does not wear her similarities outwards; she holds them tight inside, and if it were not for Vex’s sharp eye (and that is hers; that she shares with none of them, the keen glance, the discernment, the quiet certainties about the pressing world) she would not know it. But Vex’s eyes are quick and clever, and Pike is not so good at hiding as she likes to think.

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anonymous asked:


post Founder’s Mutation

Her hands are tied behind her back, the tethers invisible but tight, her wrists aching against their everlasting pull. Though she rarely sleeps on her stomach - he noticed that too, furrowed his brow as she shifted positions in bed, wondered what other habits she’d picked up of late - she lies chest-down now, her cheek hot against the starched pillow, her lungs heavy upon the mattress. He’s still awake, so of course, he knows she’s still awake.

Once upon a time - he used to always begin his stories like that, once upon a time, two agents named Mulder and Scully scurried out to the far reaches of the planet and learned that, in the end, it doesn’t matter what we see but with whom we see it - they shared a bed like this. Not in the romantic way, no, but in the incidental and apologetic way that two non-lovers subdued daily by mutual but silent attraction would. Once upon a time, they checked into a Motel 6 and found, well, damn it, there’s one room left, only a queen-size open. Though she knew better than to believe in the law of averages, she still mused the statistical improbability, the way that the theorems of the world should at least have allowed for one or two cancellations that night; last week, she read a theory on how the world is all Matrix - she still knows where that DVD is in their home, wedged up between Contact and Interstellar on the shelf - and just a computer simulation, and if that’s true, then the mathematical modeling that binds everyone together should have given them another option. They could have driven to another hotel even though it was past midnight, or they could have crashed on the local sheriff’s couch, or they could have slept in the car while parked alongside two RVs and a truck in a starkly-lit Walmart lot. Instead, Mulder looked to her, then agreed to one room, and the way her heart had stopped at the prospect made her wonder if morals could ever be absolute; if pain and terror could be so exciting, then why are the body’s warning signs? Why are the things that terrify us so indulgent? 

But she digressed and came into bed with him and silenced her scientific mind while he stayed above the sheets. He slept in sweats and a tee shirt while she wore all-too-proper pajamas, a night suit as he’d once called them. Then, she slid onto her side and stared toward the motel room’s window, one blocked off by a shabby curtain that let flickers of parking lot light in, and she waited for something she couldn’t identify.

“You’re still awake,” he said after minutes, hours, days, she couldn’t tell.

“You are too,” she gave softly, hesitantly.

“Of course I am,” he said. “I don’t sleep.”

Uncomfortably, she lay there, her body tense in a workday kind of way: shoulders up, eyes wide open and stinging with tiredness, stomach empty, legs aching. Back then, her restraints were looser around her wrists, and sometimes, they threatened to fall beyond her fingers, so regularly, she tightened them. Occam’s Razor, she used to explain to herself; it was far more likely that she was simply unsexed and bored with her personal life than that she was silently but genuinely in love with him, so she kept her professional rigidity, left her mask of scientific indifference on.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a long pause.

Though she too was sorry, she knew their reasonings wouldn’t align, so she kept quiet. In the morning, they didn’t discuss how he curled up against her back at some point in the night, and they didn’t make a big deal about how she stared a second too long after walking in on him while he was in the shower. Most of all, they never talked about what they would do if such a thing happened again.

And it did happen again, though new context forced previous awkwardness away. Instead of wasting money on two required hotel rooms, they were forced into one when they would’ve used only one anyway; with his hands strong around her hips, his mouth warm and wet against her skin, she found those nights similar to any other night of that time, the room situation disregarded. For a while, she only stayed in hotels during medical conferences in far-off places, so she reserved one room with one bed, the practice easy and simple and everyday. Nowadays, they’re back to two rooms, one bed each, and as they did once upon a time, they both retreat to their own rooms at night, only now she wears his old shirts to bed while she doubts he wears anything at all.

Tonight, she asked for two rooms, and, what do you know, they’re booked. After all, this motel’s tiny, and up here in the Adirondacks during on-season, kitschy cabin-style places that are cheap and have enough parking for a boat rack sell out quickly. Though there are eight units total, seven were full upon their arrival, only one left to boot. The next closest establishment is at least twenty miles away, and here in lake-and-land country, the roads are dark and narrow, begging a driver to lose control. In terms of probability, it seems the world wants her to lose control in some way or another. This time, she accepted the one room while he stared on blankly. 

“You’re still awake,” he says, and she feels the restraints grow tighter.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

I hope your doing well, and life isn't being too mean to you! I absolutely love your writing, and hope you are enjoying it and able to continue for a long time. I was wondering if you could do a headcannon for RFA+V+Saeran where MC is depressed/deals with a lot of self hate, but hides it really well and pretends to be happy all the until one day she just breaks down in tears and reveals everything she was feeling. Sorry if this request was long it would b comforting, thank you 4 being awesome!

this is me in a nutshell, but i don’t have anyone to confide in haha :’)) i hope this makes you feel better though ;v;

sorry this is so late kms


  • he’d have no clue until your meltdown happens
  • you’re always so bright and happy??? 
  • he asks what’s wrong and when you respond with “I hate myself I’m so sorry”
  • he’s so sad and upset
  • why didn’t you tell him sooner?
  • he would have tried to help you to the best of his ability but
  • when he sees how hard you’re crying, he realizes that you’ve probably been storing up all of this self-hatred and depressive thoughts for so long
  • it must have been so painful for you…
  • he thought about making your favorite comfort food, but then realizes that’s probably not the smartest thing
  • when you cry out his name and reach your arms out
  • he instantly flies to you and hugs you so tightly
  • Yoosung’s worried but also flustered – he only dealt with this one other time with his cousin when Sally died
  • tries reassuring you with positive words and continuing to hold you in his arms
  • and you will have his undivided attention when you’re ready to talk


  • in a different way, you’re a better actor than him
  • but he never expected you of all people to be depressed
  • how could a wonderful person like you hate yourself so much…?
  • then again, he did remember hearing the saying that people who are always laughing and smiling on the outside are the ones who are actually sad and depressed on the inside
  • it was quite baffling for him, but nonetheless, he’s ready to support you no matter what
  • he wish he could magically kill off all of your negative feelings towards yourself
  • but he knows that isn’t possible, so he does his best to comfort you while you’re currently at your lowest
  • you were sure that your face looked hideous and hid it in you hands, not wanting Zen to see
  • about to run into a different room to cry it out by yourself, he grabs you and pulls you against him, not letting go
  • too upset to resist anymore, you cry into his chest
  • Zen wasn’t about to allow you to face your troubles alone anymore
  • he gently shushes you and kisses the top of your head in attempt to help soothe you
  • he will always give his best support in making sure that you’re happy again


  • might have a lingering suspicion here and there, but decides to brush it off thinking that it’s just her imagining things
  • you’re always joking around and happily messing with the other members like Seven, so it’s just her right?
  • wrong
  • as you were sitting on the couch with a warm cup of coffee, Jaehee notices that you’re quieter than usual
  • looking over at you, she’s about to ask what’s wrong, but then notices that you’re
  • crying…?
  • setting your cup of coffee aside, you try and wipe the tears away, but they keep coming
  • you apologize and try to act like it’s nothing, but you’re in too deep now
  • you full-on break out into sobs
  • and she’s just like
  • what the hell am i supposed to do
  • she’s never been too good with comforting people so she’s not sure she can help
  • but when you literally throw yourself onto her, she’s confused, but decides quickly that the best thing is to hug you
  • now she’s extremely worried – she’s never heard anyone cry this hard before
  • and she can only assume for now that you’ve been holding this in for a really, really long time
  • hopefully, you will allow her to understand the reason why you’re crying this hard once you’re calmer


  • if you’re good at keeping a happy mask on, then he’s going to assume that you’re happy because he’s still getting adjusted to emotions and the like
  • so when he comes home to find you staring out the window and asking him the oddest questions
  • he’s confused and asks you why so serious all of a sudden?
  • and when you turn around with despair on your face and tears falling from your eyes
  • Jumin immediately jumps into action, rushing over to you and grabs your face gently
  • he’s wondering what happened to that smile that was the world to him, now replaced with sadness?
  • you apologize incoherently saying that you should have told him sooner
  • but you didn’t want him to worry over you so much
  • resting his forehead on yours, he softly shushes you in attempt to stabilize your mood
  • it takes some time, but eventually his low voice while trying to calm you down works
  • but because that breakdown was so emotionally draining, you put all your weight on him and began dozing off
  • picking you up and carrying you to your shared bed, he tucks you and puts Elizabeth the 3rd next to you and she gladly cuddles up to you


  • both of you are two peas in a pod
  • while he does love your happy and fun side, Saeyoung can see right through your fake smiles; just as you saw through his
  • while you two are lying on the couch together, he brings this up and you act like you don’t know what he’s talking about at first
  • but the way he looks at you makes you realize that he’s not joking
  • tears begin forming in your eyes, and eventually you just completely break
  • a sad look covers his visage as you’re sobbing and constantly repeating how you hate yourself and that you don’t want to be in the world anymore
  • it hurts Saeyoung to see how long you’ve been bottling up all of those feelings of self-hate and negativity
  • if he could, he’d take all of your burdens and sadness from you because he doesn’t want you to feel like he does from time to time
  • he wants to see you smiling and genuinely happy without having to fake it everyday
  • Saeyoung pulls you closer into his chest and you you cry and cry 
  • and at that point, tears begin falling from his eyes as well – the amount of pain you’re in is really getting to him
  • so you lie there on the couch, crying in each other’s embrace until sleep overtakes both of you


  • because V can’t see your face, he relies on your tone of voice to determine your mood most of the time
  • and it always sounds so happy and bright
  • it’s like music to his ears
  • but one day, you just break down, unable to hold in all of the negative emotions in anymore
  • lots of “I can’t take it anymore” or “I’m just a burden” escape your mouth
  • and the sound of hurt and pain coming from you breaks him
  • V understands the feeling of being a burden, but he doesn’t want you to feel that way – you don’t deserve to feel so low
  • moving closer to you, he embraces you in a comforting hug with his comforting arms and pulls you as close as he can, letting your tears stain his shirt
  • V is silent while you cry
  • but strokes and kisses your hair softly, reassuring you that you can cry and scream for as long as you want
  • he won’t let go until you confirm that you’re okay for the time being
  • he knows that he can’t cure your mental illness, but he promises to always be your rock when you need him
  • as you are his when he needs you


  • you’re always smiling and laughing and trying to cheer him up when his periods of depression kick in
  • and he really does appreciate that because he needs that form of positivity in his life
  • but when he hears a muffled sound coming from the bedroom and goes to check, he’s more than surprised to see you curled up in a ball and crying
  • at first he wasn’t sure if he should intervene, but something in the back of his mind was telling him to do it anyway
  • when he crawls into bed and asks if you’re okay, but instead of a proper response, you cling and cry into him, incoherent words escaping your mouth
  • he does, however, catch “I hate myself so much” in your midst of bawling
  • and a genuine look of worry covers his face as he realizes that you’re more than likely suffering from depression, but he’s also angry
  • angry that you have to put up with dealing with depression and hating yourself – you don’t deserve to feel so shitty
  • how long have you been bottling this up; masking your pain and darkness?
  • Saeran definitely knows what it’s like to self-hate and have depression and it’s not fun
  • he’s not sure if he’s really doing the right thing, but he awkwardly puts his arms around you in an effort to comfort you
  • he didn’t dare try and comfort you with words, as he knows he’d mess up and say the wrong things
  • even if it took the whole night to calm down, he’d stay with you, because he remembers that you’ve done the same for him when he was at his lowest


“Alright, everyone - on three. One, two–”

“Not it!” Parker interrupted, holding up her hand.

“I hadn’t said three yet,” Eliot snarled.

“When has playing by the rules ever gotten any of us anywhere?” she countered with a smirk.

“Well, there was that one time,” said Hardison, ticking off a mystery point on one finger, “oh, and that other,” two fingers, “and that one - oh yeah, we played by the rules so good that time, and–”



Not helping,” said Eliot through gritted teeth, heaving a sigh. “Look, Parker, we’ve been over this. Hardison and I can’t play the couple, it’ll draw too much attention.”

“Why? Gay marriage is really common now!”

“Hey, not gay!” Hardison protested.

“Great, and now he’s not gay.” Eliot rolled his eyes. “Why don’t you two get hitched, then, ‘not gay’ and ‘not it’ are made for each other.”

“I am not gay,” Hardison repeated emphatically. Parker rose from her chair, slipped behind him, and pantomimed his movements and speech pattern. “I am pansexual and queer and when you disrespect my identity you disrespect me and dammit where did Parker go, she’s standing behind me, isn’t she? Yeah - of course she is. Look, it’s easy - I need to handle the security system, so you two go get hitched, and let me work. Ya’ll hurt a guys feelings, arguing about which of you want to be married to me less, I get it, okay? Just a…” He trailed off, mumbling, poking at his phone.

“Fine,” said Eliot, throwing up his hands. “Parker, let’s go check the jewelry stash for matching rings that fit. We’ve wasted enough time on this argument.”

“Wait, which of you am I married to?” asked Parker.

“Neither!” Hardison and Eliot said simultaneously. 

Parker pouted until they pulled out the casket where the jewelry was kept. Nothing cheered her up like more gold and gems and platinum and jade than she could hold in her cupped hands. Seeing her smile, Eliot’s sour mood eased. They were both idiots, so much younger and less experienced than he, so determined that this threesome when work when it had been the two of them originally and would be the two of them long after Eliot finally did something stupid enough to get himself killed. But until then, he could indulge them, he supposed. 

The hardest part was to get Parker to stop picking out pretties and stashing them in her pockets.

Hours later, Eliot had to amend that thought. The hardest part hadn’t been getting a ring on his finger. The hardest part hadn’t been trying to play two different men simultaneously, one married to Parker, the other married to Hardison. The hardest part hadn’t been when he got caught mid-change and the job went to hell. The hardest part hadn’t even been taking a few hits so Parker could make a clean escape.

No, this was definitely the hardest part.

“Are you insane?” said Eliot.

“Hey, hey, we do not use the ‘i’ word–”

“That really hurt my feelings, Eliot.”

“–we know it hurts Parker’s feelings, come on, baby, Eliot didn’t mean it, he’s just surprised.”

“I meant you, Hardison! If you guys want to make this real by all means, go for it! No one is holding you back!” Can we please just stop talking about this? I want it too much for any of this to be okay with me.

“No! Nate and Sophie, they taught me to be honest about my feelings, and this is me, being honest! I’m marrying both of you.”

“You can’t do that, Parker!”

“Why not?” she asked with actual confusion. Eliot raked a frustrated hand down his face. 

“Hardison, for the love of…talk sense in to her!” he said.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll do that, right after I…” Hardison stopped typing with a flourish. “Alright, boys and girls…uh…boy and girl, we are good to go.”

“Thank friggen God, I can’t wait to put this whole shitshow of a job behind us and–”

Hardison flicked over his phone and an image appeared on their projector - an engagement announcement for Parker, obviously in her Alice White alias, to one of Hardison in that damned Ice Man bullshit outfit he’d pulled. 


Eliot had never been interrupted by a silent cocky grin before, but there was no answering that look on Hardison’s face. Hardison flicked over his phone again and another announcement turned up - Parker and Eliot, as themselves - and another flick interrupted Eliot’s next strangled attempt at an interjection, Hardison and IT guy Eliot.

That had been a good look for him…the glasses…Parker loved him in the glasses. With a sigh, Eliot deflated.

“Really?” he asked. Though his tone was resigned, there was a warm glow in his chest. He couldn’t deny that he wanted this. But it was a terrible idea.

“Really,” said Hardison and Parker, staring at him hard. 

“Unless you’re going to keep being a little bitch about it,” Hardison added.

“Hey, you love it when I’m a little bitch,” Eliot said pointedly.

“Yep, we both do,” said Parker with a gentle smile. Eliot sighed again. God, no matter how hard he tried to do the right thing - the wrong thing? whatever - these two always twisted him around so damn easy and the worst part was…

“Fine,” he conceded.

“Yes!” Parker gave an adorable jump, punching a fist in the air, and Hardison smirked like his damn mouth had gotten stuck like that.

…the worst part was he absolutely loved them for this kind of bullshit.

Guess I’m getting married.


upupdowndownleftrighta  asked:

not sure if you still have it or if it was lost in the asks you got right before you left, but i had asked your opinion of the idea that eri gets TOO attached to izuku, as in she's mentally and emotionally dependent on him, and how you think they'd handle that?

(I actually DID get the ask but it was during my vacation in France and answering stuff on mobile is…too much trouble, so here you go!)

Hmm, I’d think it would take Izuku a while to notice, he’s never had someone hang on his every word and be this attached to him, and that along with his serious soft spot for her results in a serious blind spot.

Once he does notices, probably because one of the other students points out she’s becomes a little…clingy. He probably wouldn’t know what to do. He knows that if he lets this go on, it will end nowhere pleasant.

But on the other hand, he keeps thinking back to how she lived up until this point, rejected and unwanted and hurt and abused, and he can’t bring himself to try and separate from her the one of the few people who ever wanted her around, himself, for long enough to help the situation.

Eventually, he turns to the only person he thinks can help him in this situation, Aizawa. He asks Aizawa to tell him what to say, how to handle this without hurting her, which is the last thing he wants to do.

“…how weak do you think she is?”

“What? Aizawa-sensei she’s-”

“She’s been through hell and back, suffered through things you and I can scarcely imagine, you most especially, and has come out the other side standing on her own two feet, though just barely. She’s been hurt Midoriya, and you pussyfooting around isn’t going to help her at all.”


“Whether or not you tell her, one day she’ll be faced with the truth that she’ll have to someday live life on her own, without depending on you constantly, and if she doesn’t build up some confidence in herself by that time…she’ll collapse.”

Izuku is quiet, clenching his fists.

Aizawa stares at him before sighing and putting a hand to his shoulder, “It’s called tough love for a reason, kid.” He walks off, leaving Izuku to his thoughts.

He has a long, uncomfortable talk with Eri. It’s filled with shouting, crying, screaming, and takes the better part of an hour to finish, and although every thing she says about how weak she is and how she can’t survive without him (”You’re the only one who cared! The one who saved me! And no you don’t want me too! Overhaul was right! I am a curse aren't I!?”) hurts him to the core, he stands his ground and grabs her by the shoulders and stares her straight in the eyes.

“You saved yourself Eri-chan,” He says, trying to keep his voice calm, though it comes out a bit shaky, “When you were caught in his grip, no one else could get to you. Not Sir Nighteye, not Mirio…not me.”


You got yourself out from under him, you beat his quirk when the rest of us could barely catch him,” He laughs, “Heck, if you didn’t escape from him the first time, we would have never found out about his plan in time, because you were brave enough, strong enough to try to escape…you saved hundreds of people, thousands even.”

She’s crying openly now, sobbing, but she’s still looking at him, “I-” She chokes out, “I-I’m scared.”

He stops, “Me too Eri-chan…really scared.” He takes a deep breath before letting it out and smiling  at her, “I was so scared back in the Precepts base, when you were so far away and I just couldn’t get to you fast enough…and then you jumped towards me, and suddenly, my fear didn’t matter,” He grinned, “All that mattered was saving you, this brave little girl with the world on her shoulders who wanted so bad for people not to get hurt, who always placed everyone else’s happiness over her own,” He laughs, “I couldn’t slack off when a little girl was being such a hero right in front of me, could I?”

She flings out her arms and hugs him, sobbing into his shirt collar.

He hugs her back and whispers into her ear, “I will always be here if you need me, all of us will be here for you, that’s what heroes…what friends…what family is for,” He hugs her a bit tighter, “But in the end, you need to live your life, need to stand on your own two feet and face the world…and I know your strong enough to try at least,” He pulls her a bit away so she look at his face, “Can you promise me that Eri-chan? Promise to try?”

It takes a minute of sniffing and hiccups, but eventually, she nodes.

It starts slow, she starts hanging around more closely to the other students even if he’s in the same room, then she starts spending time with the other girls without him at all, slowly but surly, she starts standing on her own two feet.

Every now and again she goes back to him, when things simply become to much for anyone to handle on their own, but over all…it’s better.

….of course this would be the best case scenario…but hey, what’s wrong with wishful thinking eh?  

anonymous asked:

kc, i've been thinking this a few days now and i wouldn't mind any input, but can you imagine if during the fight that ultimately ended up with genji's blood on hanzo's hands one of their close friends (significant other at the time?) gets the misfortune of showing up at the wrong time and being greeted with the sight of one dead shimada and one looking so hollow afterwards? that would def fuck with someone. can you imagine the reunion that happens years later? that would be awkward with either.

A/N: I was waiting for a day where I could gather the right kind of Hanzo feels for this. I suck at writing, I tried to be angsty and it didn’t work. I guess I’m stuck in fluff city for the rest of my life. Sorry guys! hahah


Originally posted by neroangelus

You thought you were going to die. Hanzo stared down at you with a stunned expression. He had thought you were another assassin sent to kill him for whatever reason. That or Genji had decided to come back to pester him to join Overwatch again.

It was that time of year. Perhaps it was probably silly to keep up the tradition of paying respects to his dead brother when he technically wasn’t dead, but it was tradition. Hanzo was good at tradition and he hadn’t yet accepted what Genji had become; to him Genji was dead and he had killed him.

You gasped for breath as Hanzo continued to press his forearm into your throat, pinning you to the ground. You watched as he seemed conflicted for a moment, before removing his arm and body, allowing you scramble backwards to put some space between the two of you. “T-Thank you.” It probably wasn’t the right thing to say, but it was already too late for a cordial ‘hello’.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Heyo! I just finished reading your whole blog ;) and it was fabtastic! Anyways can I request the allies reacting to a s/o who subconsciously get closer to them / grabbing their arm when they are walking together out of habit? Gender neutral is fine:)

Ahhh~ I’ve added more~ That said, sorry for the delay!

America/Alfred F. Jones:

Alfred and _____ were walking rather peacefully together. They’d had a blast together at the carnival in town and were not calmly walking home. Alfred, being the hero he is, offered gallantly to walk _____ home. Even though they’d politely told him no, Alfred insisted and now the two were walking to _____’s place in peace.

Alfred was energetically walking next to ______, when they’d started getting closer to him.

Alfred didn’t pick up on this fact and continued on with his almost marching gait as _____ corrected their subconscious act.

When Alfred was just about to turn his head and excitedly tell ______ something, he noticed it, and a huge smile grew on his face. “_____!!”

This startled them, but they looked up at him in confusion, “erm… Yeah, sorry. I-”

Alfred’s smile grew even larger, and he grabbed poor, confused _____’s hand. “If you wanted me to protect you that way, all you had to do was ask!”

Their walk together continued, but this time Al was even more excited than before!

Ivan Braginsky/Russia:

Ivan had only wanted to do some light shopping for his home. And that’s what he had intended to do. If not for the fact that he’d found _____. He was happy, of course, but he was always much too nervous around them. Sure, they’d been in a relationship for a while now, but he didn’t want to risk anything.

But, here he was. He was walking home with _____ now. He was happy! Yeah!

But, he was also incredibly nervous. His palms only got sweatier when ______ unconsciously moved closer to him on the walk home. He gulped down saliva and his face quickly heated up, but he continued looking straight ahead.

When it happened again, it took all of his will power to not grab onto their hand with his much larger one.

He still wouldn’t want to risk anything. Not a single thing.

France/Francis Bonnefoy:

After a sweet, romantic date at a nice, but not unnecessarily expensive, restaurant, the evening closed with Francis and his (s/o), ______, walking home side by side. Although they were officially an item, it hadn’t been long into the relationship at all.

Francis hadn’t made a move on _____ either, rather, he was waiting for signs that it was okay to do so. He longed to hold their hand in his, but didn’t want to make them unbearably uncomfortable. So, he waited.

His waiting bore fruit when he realized ______ had gotten physically closer to him on their walk home from one of the best evenings they could’ve had together.

Francis, being the guy he was, wasted no time in clasping their hand in his own. He handsomely smiled down at them; no words were needed.

They’d not only gotten physically closer, but also mentally closer.

China/Yao Wang:

Yao moves incredibly slow in a relationship. It would be thought that he’d be a bit more fast in one, but he is as slow and dense as a tortoise when it comes to such things.

He would, however, recognize ______ getting closer to him on their walk home together from a festival.

He’d opted to not say anything until it happened for the third time. “______, just what are you doing, hm?”

“Ah! I’m sorry– it’s just a habit and–” _____’s face flushed as they’d said this. Their face flushed even more when Yao grabbed their hand with his.

Yao’s face was also slightly red, but he smiled at his (s/o). “There. Now you don’t need to worry about whether or not you’re too close.”

England/Arthur Kirkland:

“Ah, that was refreshing!” Arthur smiled at _____. “Did you enjoy yourself, _____?”

______ stepped together with Arthur, smiling up at him as they answered, “yes! The spa was incredibly refreshing!”

The duo had gone out to the spa for an escape from reality. Now they were on their way to the room they’d booked. They had to take an elevator up to the room. “Peculiar, isn’t it? But, it’s also quite quaint.”

Arthur’s (s/o) laughed at him, and accidentally moved closer to him as they did so. “S-Sorry!”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“I got… Um, I got closer to you– by accident!”

Arthur, slightly confused, stared at them. “Love, we’re a couple now. What are you so worried for?” A slight chuckle left his lips and he reached over to grip their waist from behind. “Don’t worry so much, all right?”

Canada/Matthew Williams:

Matthew always respected others personal space no matter what. He never tried to get in anybody’s way, and was pretty good at it. That went the same for his (s/o). Him and _____ were on their way home from a hockey game. Matthew’s team had one, and he was in pretty high spirits because of that!

He was on cloud 9, in all actuality. Here he had the greatest person in the world walking next to him, and his team had one their game. There’s no way that his day could get any better!

But, it did. Said greatest person in the world was unconsciously getting closer to him as they walked next to each other.

Matthew, in his gleeful state, reached for their hand, forgetting all about his love to respect personal space, and twirled them around.

“Today’s been great, _____!” He smiled boyishly.

______, after getting over their shock, could only agree with him. “Yes!”

morethanprinceofcats  asked:

I've been reading your ASOIAF meta all day and really enjoy it, but I just read your post about Bran's assassin being sent by Joffrey - I was under the impression that was a red herring, because Tyrion and Jaime never pieced together that it would be Littlefinger. It would be yet another event that looks like Joffrey's doing but was really LF (Ned's execution being the other) and ofc LF wouldn't tell Sansa he sent an assassin after her brother to help provoke war. How do we know it's Joff?

Because the evidence points to Joff. (see also.) Where Littlefinger comes in is the misdirection, the lies about who had the dagger when.

You see, it was Littlefinger’s dagger that he lost to Robert in a bet on the Jaime-Loras joust at the tourney for Joffrey’s 12th birthday. Almost everyone bet on Jaime, including Littlefinger and Tyrion. The only one who didn’t was Robert:

“Who do you think our champion will be today? Have you seen Mace Tyrell’s boy? The Knight of Flowers, they call him. Now there’s a son any man would be proud to own to. Last tourney, he dumped the Kingslayer on his golden rump, you ought to have seen the look on Cersei’s face. I laughed till my sides hurt.”

—Robert Baratheon, AGOT, Eddard VII (Chapter 30)

…and when Loras upset Jaime, Robert won the Valyrian steel & dragonbone dagger from Littlefinger.

But what Littlefinger told Catelyn was that Tyrion had won the dagger. Which was a straight-up lie, as Tyrion never would bet against Jaime. Which both he and Jaime told Catelyn:

“How did Littlefinger tell you I came by this dagger of his? Answer me that.”
“You won it from him in a wager, during the tourney on Prince Joffrey’s name day.”
“When my brother Jaime was unhorsed by the Knight of Flowers, that was his story, no?”
“It was,” she admitted. A line creased her brow.


“As I was saying before we were so rudely interrupted,” Tyrion began, “there is a serious flaw in Littlefinger’s fable. Whatever you may believe of me, Lady Stark, I promise you this—I never bet against my family.”

—AGOT, Tyrion IV (Chapter 31)

“Then why did the assassin have his dagger?”
“What dagger was this?”
“It was so long,” she said, holding her hands apart, “plain, but finely made, with a blade of Valyrian steel and a dragonbone hilt. Your brother won it from Lord Baelish at the tourney on Prince Joffrey’s name day.”
Lannister poured, drank, poured, and stared into his wine cup. “This wine seems to be improving as I drink it. Imagine that. I seem to remember that dagger, now that you describe it. Won it, you say? How?”
“Wagering on you when you tilted against the Knight of Flowers.” Yet when she heard her own words Catelyn knew she had gotten it wrong. “No… was it the other way?”
“Tyrion always backed me in the lists,” Jaime said, “but that day Ser Loras unhorsed me. A mischance, I took the boy too lightly, but no matter. Whatever my brother wagered, he lost… but that dagger did change hands, I recall it now. Robert showed it to me that night at the feast. His Grace loved to salt my wounds, especially when drunk. And when was he not drunk?”
Tyrion Lannister had said much the same thing as they rode through the Mountains of the Moon, Catelyn remembered. She had refused to believe him. Petyr had sworn otherwise, Petyr who had been almost a brother, Petyr who loved her so much he fought a duel for her hand… and yet if Jaime and Tyrion told the same tale, what did that mean? The brothers had not seen each other since departing Winterfell more than a year ago.

—ACOK, Catelyn VII

(Note the sequential chapters in AGOT carving holes in Littlefinger’s story.) So the dagger belonged to Robert, and was in the traveling armory that went to Winterfell. Where it was available for Joffrey to steal and give to the footpad he hired to kill Bran, hoping it would please his father. (As Robert had stated, where his children could hear it, that it would be better if the boy would be put out of his misery.)

And when Tyrion figured it out, he unfortunately said enough to let Joffrey know he had:

“Have a care, Your Grace,” Ser Addam Marbrand warned the king. “Valyrian steel is perilously sharp.”
“I remember.” Joffrey brought Widow’s Wail down in a savage two-handed slice, onto the book that Tyrion had given him. The heavy leather cover parted at a stroke. “Sharp! I told you, I am no stranger to Valyrian steel.”


“You and Lady Sansa owe me a better present, Uncle Imp. This one is all chopped to pieces.”
Tyrion was staring at his nephew with his mismatched eyes. “Perhaps a knife, sire. To match your sword. A dagger of the same fine Valyrian steel… with a dragonbone hilt, say?”
Joff gave him a sharp look. “You… yes, a dagger to match my sword, good.”

—ASOS, Sansa IV

And note, Littlefinger was in King’s Landing while Robert and family were in Winterfell. If he had somehow heard about Bran, and decided to kill him for whatever reason, he would have used a good assassin, and not armed the man with a dagger that was known to have been his, don’t you think? (Consider Jon Arryn’s poisoning or Joffrey’s poisoning, where nobody suspects Littlefinger in the slightest.)

The red herring in this plot was what Littlefinger said in AGOT to spark the war between Stark and Lannister, that we were supposed to believe that Tyrion (or Jaime or Cersei) sent the assassin. What Jaime and Tyrion figured out in ASOS was the truth. And well, Tyrion’s been kind of too busy lately to remember it was Littlefinger’s lies that caused this whole mess. Might be something he’ll deal with later, we’ll see.

And as for GRRM’s word on the matter:

[Did Littlefinger influence Joffrey to try and kill Bran?]

Well, Littlefinger did have a certain hidden influence over Joff… but he was not at Winterfell, and that needs to be remembered.

forum chat, July 2008

Footprints in the Sand

This was written for @timepetalsprompts weekly ficlet prompt of a Tentoo x Rose free for all.

Tentoo x Rose, ~1200 words

The Doctor joins Rose on the beach while they wait for a taxi to collect them, and he makes one thing absolutely clear to her.


As soon as the TARDIS dematerialized, Rose had stopped kissing him and had run towards the fading blue box. That had stung more than the Doctor would ever admit to her.

She looked so lost and confused as she stared at the imprint where the TARDIS used to be, that he did the only thing he could think of: he took her hand. She gripped his fingers tightly and rubbed his thumb with her own. The familiar action made his single human heart soar. They’d be okay, he reckoned. Eventually.

But then Jackie called out to them, telling them that Pete had sent a taxi service to pick them up, and their moment was broken. Rose dropped his hand like it had burned her and mumbled something about “needing a mo’” before she quickly walked off.

The Doctor looked after her, helpless, and turned back to Jackie. She was watching him with sympathetic eyes and a sorrowful smile.

“How are you, sweetheart?” she asked.

Keep reading

Trial and Error - Koichi Natsukawa

Summary: Koichi tries to fix his failed relationship with her. Over and over again. Time loop fic.

Genre:  Angst, Romance, a wee bit of Supernatural (time loop and all)

Pairing: MC/Koichi

Rating: PG-13

a/n: I somewhat pity the guy for having such a bad reputation, but oh well. He had it coming. Anyways, I’ve always wanted to try writing a time loop fic with a Voltage OTP of mine, so here it is ^^! Ah, well, this is my first fanfic, so please be gentle with me  ( o__o). This could be a bit choppy, but I hope it’s good enough for you guys!



He tries to remain stoic at the sight of his wife’s stricken face.  According to her—and everyone else, too,— his heart has long frozen, leaving him a cold, unfeeling robot.

By the time their argument reaches its peak, she has run out of the house, complete with suitcases and all. He promptly runs after her, slightly frustrated at the outcome of their squabble—what have I done wrong this time?

There, at the crossroads, lies her bloodied and battered visage. He has to fight his way through the crowd before realizing—

“Yeah, officer.  I saw her running across the road then, boom. The truck went by and hit the poor girl.”

this isn't real.

“Time of death, 10:49 pm.”

This isn't real.

“Mr. Natsukawa, I regret to inform you of your wife’s passing. My deepest condolences.”

None of you are real.

“I’m so sorry for your loss, Koichi.”

It’s all just some nightmare.

“She was so young, what a tragedy…”

By the time I open my eyes, all of this will disappear.


“…So we’ll have to start preparing for her funeral as soon as possible—hey!”


“Get a hold of yourself, Koichi—!”




When he opens his eyes, he’s surprised to see two people standing in front of him. One of them is her—crying—and the other is a serious-looking man—her boss, if I remember correctly.

“Could I ask you to leave your wife?“

That shook him out of his stupor.

Her boss looks him in the eye.

“I love your wife, and she told me that she loves me. I take full responsibility for how things have gone…but I can’t hold back my feelings any longer.”

Did I really end up here just to make this choice? Hell, no—

“I want to make her happy. I humbly ask you to allow it.”

He bows his head in front of Koichi after speaking.

Koichi looks at her, and the look in her face is unmistakable—pleading.

So that’s how it is.

It takes an awkward bout of silence, but the husband finally speaks up.

“…Do you think you can make her happier than I can?” It hurts to talk.

Her boss straightens his posture and looks him in the eye again. “I do. I will make her happier than you do. I swear it.”

The two men scrutinize each other for a bit longer, when Koichi gives a defeated smile.


“Mr. Natsukawa…?”

“I should’ve seen it coming.” Another wistful look. “Please, make her happy.”

After all—

“…All I did was make her miserable.”

He gives her one last look before leaving the room. She still has tears in her eyes, but he knows it’s not sadness. He could’ve sworn seeing her mouth the words “thank you” while he closed the door.

This isn’t real.

This isn't real.


This time, he ends up at their home. Or more specifically, his bedroom. He takes a few moments to stare at the ceiling before noticing the sound of running water.

She’s probably in the bathroom.

He wants to make sure of it himself—I’d better not be insane—, so he knocks on the door.

“Are you alright?”

No reply.

Knock, knock, knock.

Still nothing.

He’s slightly worried now. Taking a deep breath, he mentally prepares himself for the next step.

“I’m coming in—“

No. You’ve got to be kidding me.

She lies there in the bathtub with her head lolled to the side. Her bloody wrists are the first things that catch his attention. He runs to her, whispering words of apology and self-deprecation.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m—“

A failure.

Damn it.


Please, please let this be the one.

He seems to be at some sort of party this time around. His suit is better than the usual, and everyone else around him is wearing evening formal wear.

Maybe he should try blending in. He heads toward the refreshments table, eyeing a piece of pastry. When he tries to reach for it, he bumps into someone else.

“Oh, I’m sor— Koichi?”

It’s her. It’s her. It’s her.

She looks awkwardly to the side. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Wait, but aren't we supposed to be here together?

He attempts to explain himself, but is interrupted by another voice.

“Hey, anything wrong over there?”  A man with dirty blond hair approaches them.

“Oh, it’s nothing, Genji. I just ran into an old acquaintance of mine,” she tells him.

Old acquaintance? Don’t tell me—

Koichi quietly glares at Genji when the blond puts his arm around her waist.

The hell? Get your arms off my wife, you—

“Hey, there. Genji Higashiyama. I’m her fiancé. Nice to meet you.” 

No. No. No.

I’m too late.


Now, he’s at his office, face-to-face with his monotone computer when his phone rings. Before anything else, he checks his finger to see if his wedding ring’s still there—it better be.

The ring gives off a dull shine—good, it’s still there.

He answers the phone. “Hello, Koichi Natsukawa speaking.”

“Mr. Natsukawa, your wife—“

Oh, god, please let this be a joke. Make it stop.

“What about my wife?” His voice is louder than usual mixed with a tinge of desperation, and his office mates turn to his direction.

“—a child bumped into her during the morning commute. She…fell onto the train tracks while the train was approaching—”

Why does this keep happening to me? Am I being punished? God, god, god—

“—her body is currently being recovered at the train station. I’m very sorry for your loss, sir—“

Bam. He throws his phone across the room. With curious stares, his office mates ponder at the out-of-character display he just exhibited.

He gives all of them a lousy attempt at a smile.

“My wife just died this morning. Get back to work.”

I’ll get it right next time.

It has to be. It has to be—


So she’s with her coworker now?

Apparently, her coworker’s been in love with her for eight years—so, what?—, and right now she’s running out of the house to chase after the said man.

Right after taking off her wedding ring. In front of Koichi.

I screwed up again, huh?


He’s already lost count of the times he held her lifeless body. Every time somebody tries to offer some sort of sympathy to him, he’d just walk past them.

Damn you all.


Is this how she felt like when I cheated on her?

Was I that bad of an asshole?


Sometimes, he’d tally the number of times she died versus the number of times she ended up with another man.

Which one hurt more? Seeing her die in his arms? Or seeing her happy in someone else’s?

I don’t know anymore.


How many times has he done this? A hundred? A thousand? It didn’t matter. Things ended up the same, anyway.

She’d always die married to him. She’d always smile with someone else.

Koichi never thought he’d loathe the word “always” with so much fervor.


Scientifically speaking, he should’ve been numb to the pain by now. He’s been conditioned to accept many agonizing scenarios, so why does he still feel an ache every time he fails?

Maybe detachment would work. After all, his heart has frozen long ago.


Maybe I should just lock her up—

No. Stop it. You can’t do that, Koichi.

But you haven’t tried it yet. It could work—

I said stop it, didn't I?!

Arguing with himself has become one of his pastimes. He wonders if he has gone insane.


Please stop being so nice to me even after everything.

It’s making things harder for me.


I think I've reached my limit.


Okay. He has decided. After continuous trial and error, he has decided.

I don’t know how many more times I can keep failing, but I do know this:          

If I can’t have you—

 —then nobody can.

anonymous asked:

Though not how I wanted to start the year, I've been facing a very hard time emotionally and through no ones fault but my own. Your blog is one of the few things that actually makes me smile inside too. How would the Horsemen, Azrael, Samael, and others (maybe Karn and the Watcher) handle hearing their s/o saying they hate themselves or feel useless?

Okay, look. I’m not going to say something awe inspiring and super motivational because frankly? I wouldn’t know the first thing to say. i’m terrible with advice, but I can tell you how much I love you. Idk what you think you’ve done to warrant self-loathing, I just think you should know that we’re all in this together. And if you need anything, just ask okay?

Death: He draws in a slow breath and turns his eyes skyward at the startling recognition he felt when you utter those words. He often thought the same thing about himself, but to hear it from someone he actually gave a damn about was enough to make him blanch, had he any blood. He looks back down at you with an expression you can’t quite place. “Y/n, there is nothing you could have ever done in your life that should make you hate yourself so strongly. Now, I know this might seem cryptic advice, especially from someone who slaughtered his own kin…. but you are an inherently good person, and the fact that you’ve acknowledged your own imperfection is testament to that.”

War: He squints at you skeptically when you told him you didn’t know why he bothered with someone so useless. War has an age old mantra, that everything in the universe has a use. And you’ve proven to him time and again that you’re capable of immense greatness, so to him, hearing that you think you’re useless is as absurd as it is insulting. To you. He harrumphs scornfully, fixing you with a stern glare. “These lies you tell yourself, you need to stop.”

“They’re not lies War, I rea-”  

“They are. You think you’re useless? You truly expect me to believe that you hate yourself, that you don’t think yourself worthy of anything less than absolute loyalty?” Here, he thudded a great fist against his chest, “Do you truly believe that you would still be here, unless you were wrong about yourself?” His eyes soften only a little, “You’ve survived impossible odds, little one. Odds that no human should ever have to face. So you must have done something right.”

Strife: No sooner had the words left your mouth than you slam into something, hard. It’s a solid mass of living muscle, and you’re still rubbing your sore nose as the wall shifts around until it’s owner is facing you, a look of alarm and dismay etched across his face. Strife “How could you SAY that?!” He advances towards you, and you’re so taken aback by his sudden movement, that you trip over a rock and fall over backwards. Strife stands above you, breathing heavily with his fists clenched tightly at his sides. To your gunslinging companion, you’re the most important person in the universe. You’re not short with him, you don’t try to tell him what to do all the time, you want to be around him and he needs you. “Shit-I….I,” he stammers, stumbling backwards, the realisation slamming into him that ‘fuck’ he’s become dependant on you, “You can’t hate yourself cos - shit- that sort of thinkin’ always turns into something worse! And that ‘something worse’ could mean that you’re gonna leave me and-and…” He drags a hand frustratedly through his hair as he stares down at you. “….Don’t ever say shit like that, Y/n. I mean, damn if you hate yourself then how in the Hell must you feel about me?”

Fury: “Oh, Y/n.” From the moment she met you, Fury had noticed an underlying despondency emanating from deep within your very soul. She’d been wondering when it was going to bubble to the surface and spill over into the open. Now you’d said it, she supposed that was a step in the right direction. At least you felt comfortable enough around her to tell her, now she could work to disprove your own self-depracating words. She puts an arm around your shoulders and pulls you into a one armed hug. She tilts her head at you curiously, before speaking. “You know, I’ve lived a very, very long time…..There have been many note-worthy moments in my life that I will remember until the day I finally meet the end. But you know what?” She pauses to shake you a little, making sure you’re paying attention, “Meeting you has been one of the most momentous occasions I’ve ever been lucky enough to be a part of.” Fury notes the way you’re looking up at her through bleary eyes, disbelief evident on your features. She laughs, “It’s true! So please don’ say that you’re useless, or that you have no purpose. If it weren’t for you, where would I be?”

“You’d be fine.” You mutter, dismally.

“No.” She states, firmly, “I would not.”

Azrael: He nearly dropped the scroll he’d been pouring over when you suddenly dropped your head into your hands and muttered how completely useless you felt. He threw a worried frown over his shoulder at you, “Nobody so young should ever feel that way. You’ve barely lived. How can you have already made up your mind that you have no use?” He rolled the parchment up before handing it to a passing angel, then he turned fully to regard you. “Y/n this is not healthy…besides, how can you say such a thing when you’ve been so inherently useful to me? As my ally, as my human ambassador… my very best friend.” You smile bitterly at that, replying “Oh please, Az. You’ll forget about me soon enough, I’m just a forgettable kind of person. Also, I’m only here for a brief sneeze of time, I’ll only know you for about a millisecond of your life anyway.”

Hmm, and how much richer my life will be for it.” He smiled easily down at you when you shot your head up to stare at him. “You gave and old fool a chance, even after all I’ve done. You may not know it yet, Y/n, but you’re far more important than you give yourself credit for. Be gentle with yourself…You’ve earned it.” 

Samael: This is someone whose level of self regard far exceeds any human’s. Or any creature, for that matter. So he’s not entirely up to date on just how detrimental saying ‘I hate myself’ can be. But he knows that it isn’t a good thing by any means. Only when he sees for himself how forlorn and withdrawn you’ve become does he actually start to take action. Samael recognises the insidious nature of your self-loathing and treats it as though it’s an enemy that needs to be slain. He wants to protect you, but you’re making it hard for him, because he feels as though he’s fighting you. He leans back on his haunches an smirks down at you, “So, you finally trust me enough to use me as an emotional analyst.” You don a panicked expression, trying to assure him that’s not why you let slip that you hate yourself. Samael merely laughs, holding up a hand as you trail off into silence.  “I did not mean, that I was unwilling to uphold the mantle.” He leans down suddenly, his large face looming over you as he studies yours, scrutinisingly. “Tell me, do you think I’d have kept you around if you were as bad as you think you are?” 

You shrug half-heartedly, “Dunno, says a lot about me if Satan himself likes me though…I really must be a bad person..” At this, Samael frowns, “My name is Samael, and you misjudge me if you believe I ‘like’ the bad ones.” He rests a large hand around you in a gesture of camaraderie, “This is a waste of your time and energy, Y/n. Don’t think on it any longer.” 

Karn: “Eh!?” His reaction is almost as explosive as he is. Within moments, he’s whirled to face you, grabbed you in both of his hands and lifted you into the air, drawing you close against his chest as you just hang, rag-dolled in his arms. He’s sputtering and nothing makes much sense, briefly you wonder if you’re hearing the Maker language for the first time. Finally, he stops tripping over his words and instead, fumbles with them. “W-what are y’on about? You’re amazin’!” You deride his words by laughing brusquely. 

“Karn stop,” but then you get a little pensive again, “you’re only friends with me because you’re bored and want something to do.” 

No,” he argues, “I’m serious! Y’are amazin’! You’re my friend and tha’ in itself isn’t exactly an easy feat. You stand up fer me when the older ones belittle me, y’even faced down the Horseman for me, don’t you remember any o’ that?” He places you over on a nearby, crumbling wall, setting you down gently and taking your hand in his. “Ye can’t say stuff like that love. S’not right. You sigh in defeat and he rubs his hairless chin, exasperated. “Well then,” he claps his hands together, “How bout this? I’ll do all the lovin’ for the two of us from now on, okay?”

So I wrote a thing.

Untitled ficlet, Harry/Louis, PG, canon.

Harry sends him an issue before the photos even leak, by courier, as if he’s afraid Louis might not see it soon enough. Louis knew he’d been working on something, because Niall told him, but he had no idea the scope was so big. “A special document curated by Harry,” the magazine cover proudly proclaims. On it, Harry stares at Louis through a spiderweb, but it’s hard to pay attention to Harry’s eyes when Louis’s gaze keeps coming back to the collar around Harry’s neck. The bottom of the picture is obscured by text, but Louis’s quite sure there’s a leash dangling from the collar.

It’s admittedly not what Louis had been expecting.

Louis watches the cover for a long while before he flicks the magazine open at random…

… and falls on an ad.

It only takes him two more tries before he methodically rips off every page that isn’t to do with Harry, barely looking at the ones that do feature him, until there’s a pile of paper at his feet high enough for him to throw a good kick into it, scattering them everywhere.

This time when he opens the magazine, it’s to find Harry sitting on a trashcan. He looks so young that for a second Louis assumes they’ve used old pictures for the article, but the shot is quite obviously recent, even if Harry’s hair looks nothing like on those Dunkirk pics (which Louis only saw because Liam sent him some, it’s not like he trolled the #dunkirk tag on twitter or anything).

Louis flips back a few pages, stops on a picture of Harry sitting on a kitchen counter in the most hideous jumper Louis has ever seen; it looks like someone’s killed a muppet and made a sweater out of it. It should look ridiculous, but Harry looks beautiful, with his lips curled imperceptibly down into a bored pout, his slender fingers pressed against his chin, his eyes half-lidded.

Another picture shows him holding a pint, looking too young to be allowed to drink its contents. He looks like the Harry Louis met six years ago, like the Harry Louis used to call his best friend before they were driven apart… by the rumours, by fear, by time.

Louis loses himself in the pictures and the words, sitting cross-legged on the carpeted floor of his hallway, fingers stroking the glossy pages. He knows every word and every photo has been carefully chosen, knows Harry has only shown precisely what he wanted to show, but he still gets fooled into believing he’s being made privy to the deepest corners of Harry’s soul.

Once upon a time, this wouldn’t have been an illusion. The memory only makes the deception more potent, and more painful.

Harry is baring his heart out for the whole world to see and he apparently wanted Louis to see it so badly he made sure Louis would get a copy.

When Louis types Harry’s name into his phone with fingers that are definitely not shaking from nerves, the autofill feature remains silent. There are no previous messages saved. He doesn’t actually remember the last time he texted Harry.

He doesn’t know what to write, so he goes for the expected.

Artsy, are we? he sends, not expecting any reply. He’s barely pressed Send that a happy little bubble pops up at the bottom of the screen to indicate that Harry’s writing back.

Did you like it?

He should lie.

He cannot.

Yes. he types, then adds, against his better judgement; It’s amazing.


He doesn’t ask Harry why the fuck his opinion suddenly matters. But he does something much worse.

Are you in town?

His treacherous thumb presses Send before he can stop himself and Louis looks at his phone, horrified, but there is no turning back. He doesn’t even know why he wrote this. He doesn’t even want-


It’s like he doesn’t have any control over his fingers. They fly over his screen, while his brain desperately tries to hammer some sense into them, in vain. Louis knows every letter he types is a mistake, but the magazine in his lap is opened on that picture of Harry standing tall and long-haired, his naked torso framed by the lapels of a ridiculous red jacket, and Louis can’t think.

Dyou want to come over?

Harry’s answer takes ages to appear. It’s definitely for the best. Louis doesn’t even know why he asked, doesn’t know what he would do if Harry agreed. They have been strangers for too long now. There is no mending what fame has undone.

The answer pops up just when Louis’s managed to convince himself that he never wanted Harry to say yes.

Come to my place. Easier.

And just like that, Louis’s off.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

43. And 49.; Minghao angst

43.“Don’t look at me like that”
49. “Is she prettier than me?”

It was the little things you noticed that made you so insecure. Little things like the way you were so awkwardly short when you stood next to him or how you stumbled over your words at times when you got nervous. Or how you were so clumsy and awkward compared to the graceful looking girls he worked with. Or even the way people stared at you when the both of you walked by them, hand in hand.

You knew what they were thinking, exactly because you were thinking the same thing. “How did someone like her end up with him?”

At first it was easy to dismiss. He chose you for a reason, right? You told yourself you were good enough for him, that if you didn’t deserve him you wouldn’t have even got him in the first place. However as time went on your insecurities that kept nagging at you became almost impossible to ignore. It became harder and harder to fake a smile when you saw Minghao talking to another girl or to laugh when someone jokingly asks if you two really were together. Your boyfriend remained oblivious to the fake smiles you gave and you didn’t know if you wanted it that way or not.

Today was another day you had to act. Days out with Minghao used to be so much fun but now, every time you went out together you tried not to notice all the girls who looked at him. Or all the girls he looked at, you thought watching as your boyfriend’s eyes followed the gorgeous waitress in the small diner.

She was tall - the perfect height for Minghao, you couldn’t help thinking - and she was slim in a way you most definitely weren’t. Suddenly you didn’t feel as hungry as you had before, hands unconsciously going down to rest on your own not-as-small-as-you-would’ve-liked-it tummy.

“What’s wrong?” Minghao, asked you concernedly when, instead of digging in happily like you usually did, you began picking at the food in front of you. You shrugged, not wanting to let him know what was on your mind. “Not hungry I guess.” He didn’t look convinced - you didn’t blame him, you didn’t sound convincing even to yourself - but he nodded and went back to eating anyways.

You continued twirling the food around your plate, your appetite long gone. The empty feeling in your stomach got worse when you noticed Minghao smiling at the waitress as she walked over to the table next to you two. The smile she gave was so flirtatious you wondered how he didn’t notice. Or if he had noticed and he just didn’t mind. You decided not to dwell more on that last thought.

Why would your boyfriend, who assured you he loved you every day, pay attention to another girl while the both of you were on a date? Your mind of course, turned to the only option available.

“Is she prettier than me?”

Minghao stared at you in surprise. It took you awhile to figure out why. You had said those words out loud. You had asked him if the waitress was prettier than you. After weeks of hiding your insecurities, you had just voiced them all in one question you hadn’t even meant to ask. Well, shit.

“What are you talking about?” He asked incredulously. You took a deep breath. Okay, so you had asked him the question whether you had meant to or not. Why not let him know all of what’s on your mind? The thought scared you but you didn’t back down.

You met his eyes unwaveringly. “I mean. I’m not that bad looking. I’m not hideous or anything. I might even be pretty. But I also get that she’s prettier than me and. I’m not quite sure why you’re still with me. You’re an idol! You could have any girl you want.”

“Y/N.” He interrupted but you didn’t stop. You weren’t quite done yet.

“That waitress, or even another idol! Someone who’s taller, thinner, more confident and someone who actually deserves you.”


“I’m not that person and frankly, I’m surprised you still haven’t realised that and left me. I’m -”

“Y/N!” You stopped, more in surprise than because you wanted to. Minghao never raised his voice. Never, and especially not at you.

You had been so busy rambling on you had neglected to notice the anger in his eyes or how he was no longer smiling. For the first time since you had started saying all those things you felt ashamed - and maybe a little embarrassed. You lowered your head, too upset to face him

His voice had not been loud enough for anyone else to hear but you had heard in it the anger he was feeling - and the frustration.

“Y/N.” He started. You didn’t dare raise your head. “When will you understand? I’m not.” He sighed, in exasperation, at a loss for words. “Never doubt why I chose you again. I didn’t choose you because you’re the only girl around or because you’re the only one I could have. I chose you because you are the only girl that I want.”

He reached over the table gently lifting your chin with his hand. His eyes were soft and his words were nothing but gentle when he spoke. “I love how you’re shorter than me. It makes me want to protect you and hold you in my arms when I see you. I love your clumsiness. Nothing else can give me a reason to always hold onto your hand. And you may think you’re not thin enough but believe me when I say, you’re perfect. I wouldn’t trade you for Miss Korea if I got the chance.”

You smiled at his words, completely at a loss for what to say. He intertwined his fingers with yours on top of the table smiling at you as he stared into your eyes. His eyes didn’t move away and you could feel yourself blushing in his gaze.

“Don’t look at me like that.” You muttered shyly, lowering your eyes yet again. “Like what? Like you’re the prettiest girl on earth? I’ll never stop looking at you like that.” You could hear the grin in his voice and you couldn’t stop yourself from groaning. “Enough with the cheese, Romeo. You still need to finish what’s on your plate.” You laughed. “Speak for yourself.” He teased back at you. You grinned at him, all your previous unhappiness washed away. Maybe you were good enough for him after all.