come on look at that face and tell me you don't want to read about him and carrie

Destiel + established relationship + blind!dean

For @prayforjensen. Happy birthday, Lee! I love you!!

Dean’s vision begins fading somewhere around the sixth date. He tells Cas that he should get out now but Cas doesn’t budge. 

He started losing his heart somewhere around the third.

Dean gets glasses. He hates them at first, always laughs and says he looks like a nerd. Cas adores them, loves to take them from Dean to clean the lenses before settling them back on his nose. He likes the way they go crooked on Dean’s face when he falls asleep on the couch, loves the sound they make when Dean sets them on the bedside table right before he turns out the light and kisses Cas goodnight.

The prescriptions steadily get stronger, buying them a little more time. In that time, they whisper their first “I love you”s, Cas moves in, and they travel. Cas takes Dean anywhere and everywhere, from the Atlantic Coast to the Pacific. They stop at the Grand Canyon, drive down to Mexico for a day. 

When it seems that Dean’s vision will last the fall, they decide to go to Texas for Austin City Limits. They take a few days before Thanksgiving to drive up the east coast and visit some orchards, see a few lighthouses. They spend a night in Martha’s Vineyard and Dean complains about feeling like some uppity Hartford housewife but he holds Cas close that night as they sit on the beach and watch the stars. 

It’s when they’re in Kansas for the holidays that Dean wakes up, puts on his glasses, and sees so difference. He shakes Cas away, starting to panic.

“Everything is still blurry, C-Cas. Why-why- it shouldn’t” His breathing becomes ragged and there are tears streaking down his face and Cas cups his chin, heart breaking in his chest as he tries to calm Dean down. 

“It’s okay, baby. It’s going to be okay. Just breathe.”

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Couldn’t Help Myself (Samoa Joe x Reader)

A/N: OK SO I MADE THIS ???? Listen, I’ve been thirsting over Samoa Joe for quite a while, actually, but I had no one to share it with. Now though, after tonight’s RAW, everyone seems to FINALLY GET IT. So, I thought I’d write this to celebrate. I’ve legit never read Samoa Joe fanfiction before, so I have no stand point, just my horny self. I hope you guys enjoy it, I know he’s not for everyone and that’s just fine! Laters! xx

Side note: There are no good Samoa Joe gifs ???? 

Warnings: Slight dom mal/sub female. Swearing, teasing, shy reader. unprotected sex, smut without plot.

Word count: 4108 lolol

Tagging my usuals and some more: @hardcorewwetrash @imagines–assemble @imagineall-the-fandoms @blondekel77 @thiickreigns @m-a-t-91 @valeonmars @littlemissava13 @nuroxic @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @superrezzy00 @momis30 @laochbaineann @alexispoo @taryndbiase @reigns420 @horcruxhunter5972 @xfirespritex @wrestlewriting @heelcharlie @archiveseb @wwefangirl69 @oreillyskyle @gingertalksshit @not-that-kinda-gurl08 @princess3733 @ridingmoxley @panic-angel3314 @wrestlingnoob @sunflowers-and-swear-words @wwe-rollins-lover @baeckyshorsewomen @the-greekgoddess @metabalaba @roaring-storm

Originally posted by totaldivasepisodes

You didn’t know exactly how it happened.

One second, you were talking to this guy at the bar, shyly pushing away his advances; the second, you and him were separated by a large body, your hands clutching to the counter like your life depended on it.

Truth be told, you weren’t particularly upset about being interrupted, seeing as the guy in question had been really insistent and was making things more uncomfortable by the minute. Hell, his innuendos were barely hidden, and you did not enjoy the way his eyes kept ghosting over you like you were nothing but a piece of meat waiting to be bitten into.

You were, however, extremely surprised about who had stepped in.

Samoa Joe, of all people.

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baronessblixen  asked:

Don't know if it sparks anything but I'd love to read Mulder and Scully locked in a room together and it's either hot and they have to take off clothes or really cold like in that one Castle episode? Consider this is a prompt 😄

this story was heavily inspired by the freezer scene in castle 3x17: countdown (writ. andrew marlowe), although the circumstances are different. both contain cuddling in a freezer and talking, though.

“Why is it always fucking freezing,” Scully mutters furiously, her voice slowed by the cold.

“Because we’re unlucky like that,” Mulder mumbles, and she chuffs a laugh into his neck, her breath ballooning out in a white cloud. They’re curled around each other in an attempt to conserve warmth. He’s clutching her cold hand in both of his, his thumb against her pulse. He wants to feel her life. (The space between beats is slowing, and that scares him more than anything.)

“Too bad we don’t have sleeping bags,” he tries to joke with her, but the tone is all wrong, slow and muddled by the cold. They are dying, slowly, freezing to death. Just another close call they’ve had in as many months. Scully is barely out of the hospital from her injury in New York, she hardly deserves this. They both deserve a break.

“Too bad we don’t have jackets,” Scully says. “Too bad we’re not out of here and chasing down our suspect.”

“Scully, I’m sorry,” he says. And he is - it’s his fault, he’s the one who suggested they search the warehouse. Chasing one man and finding three. It’d been easy, even with their training, for the two of them to be overpowered and locked in a giant freezer. (They’d just threatened the other to get them to cooperate. They’d figured out how to break them in three minutes flat.)

And now here they are. Trapped in a freezer with no heavy clothes and no way out. They lost their guns. After about fifteen minutes of banging and yelling and picking at the lock until their knuckles and fingertips were bruised, Scully suggested they huddle together to conserve warmth. They were actually on a task force this time, and someone was bound to notice them missing sooner or later. So they’re waiting. That’s all they can do. Antarctica all over again. 

Scully sighs. “It’s not your fault.” Her free arm wraps hard around his waist and he hugs her closer. “This is just my luck, though,” she slurs, bitterness coming through even in her cold-muddled tone. “First case after my medical leave and I get locked in a f-f-freezer.”

“Scully, hey. Scully.” Her pulse is still under his fingers. He presses his face into her hair. “We’re gonna get out of this,” he says, clenching his jaw so his teeth don’t chatter. “We always do. We survived Antarctica, didn’t we?”

Scully laughs faintly. “I don’t know how the fuck we did.” She balls her fist into his suit jacket. “I was weak, you were unconscious, we were literally in the middle of nowhere…”

“Luck. Faith. Whatever you want to call it.” His voice is starting to slow, starting to rasp. “We always get out of this stuff.”

“Mmm.” She’s silent for a minute. He tugs her closer, kissing the top of her head. Feels her pulse. They’ll come, he tells herself. And then Scully speaks again, slowly: “I almost miss Antarctica at this point.”

He chuffs out a laugh. “Not me. That was terrifying.”

“Coming in to rescue me with no visible plan of how to get out?”

“Losing you,” he clarifies. She doesn’t say anything, so he clarifies further. “When I thought you were going to Utah… and then the paramedics took you away because the bee stung you and they…”

“The bee,” Scully murmurs. Her hand loosens its hold on his jacket and he’s briefly terrified of what it means - whether she’s pulling away from him emotionally or just fading away in general. “You never talk about the bee.”

They’ve talked about the bee about a hundred times since last summer, trying to figure out the virus it carried. “Scully, what-” he starts in confusion.

“You never talk about what the bee stopped.” Puffs of cold air come out of his mouth as it hangs open in confusion. Scully is shivering as she pulls away sluggishly to look him in the eye. “The kiss,” she explains. “You n-n-never mention it.”

He cups her cheek to try and warm her up, but there is no warmth in this place. “Scully, I told you I loved you.” He always thought she understood that, always thought she’d taken the easy way out…

“Drugged,” she mumbles. “And that was m-m-months later. Afterwards, you never…" 

“I was s-s-scared to talk to you about it.” There’s so much he’d like to do in this moment if it weren’t for the fact that they are freezing to death. “I didn’t know how you f-f-felt.”

Scully looks at him. Her gaze is muted but still fully there. Her eyelashes are dotted with white. She scoots closer, hugging him tightly as she tucks her head into his shoulder. “God, Mulder,” she murmurs. “We’re idiots. W-w-we have terrible timing.”

He brushes his fingers over her hair. It’s full of ice crystals as well. “W-w-what…”

“I wish we’d had this talk months ago,” Scully mumbles. Her grip loosens slightly on his jacket. “W-w-we could’ve had some time… instead of doing it while we were…. s-s-slowly freezing…”

“So you…” he starts, but he’s unable to complete the sentence. (God, if he’d known…)

“I do,” she slurs, her nose brushing his shoulder. Her words trail off slowly, quieting at the end like they’ve been sanded smooth. And then the effort to talk seems too great. 

He holds her. Their hearts beat. Things start to fade away. 

Hospital lights blurry above him. He sits up, panicked, blanket falling into his lap. “What-”

“Sir, please settle down…” a nurse is telling him. 

“What happened?”

“Your fellow agents found you and Agent Scully, you have hypothermia, you’re mostly rewarmed at this point but…”

“Where’s Scully?” He shoves at the blankets and tries to stand, heading for the door of the room. 

“Your partner is in another room… sir, please calm down…”

“Scully!” he shouts. His motions are clumsy, he still feels numb all over, but he has to find her. “Scully!”


She appears at the door, blanket wrapped around her shoulders. “Calm down, Mulder, I’m fine,” she says quickly, holding up a hand. Addressing the nurse, she adds, “I’ll stay in here, if you don’t mind,” in a tone too firm to argue with. The nurse nods, reluctantly, and steps aside to let her in. She sits beside him on the bed, taking his hand in hers. The nurse instructs them both to relax and not move around too much. It’s not a severe case, but they want to monitor them for a while. Scully nods. The man informs them that he’s going to get them something hot to drink and leaves the room, closing the door behind him.

Mulder rubs her fingers with his, overwhelmed. It seems like the worst of everything has already passed, but he is still scared. The panic always takes a while to fade. He hates almost-dying slow like that, hates having to watch it. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” She squeezes his hand. “You?”

“Okay.” He pulls her hand up and kisses the back of it in relief. Her forehead furrows and she pulls her hand out of his. Something inside him thunks. 

But the next thing he knows, she is leaning across the space between them and cupping her face in his. She kisses him briefly. It feels like the first, the most, heat between them. “Unfinished business,” she says, pulling back, her thumbs stroking his cheeks. He smiles.

anonymous asked:

msr 16 or 148?

Dear anon, I ended up using both! It also got long… I’ve been informed the “read more” doesn’t work on mobile so sorry for the insanely long post

16. “I’ll kick his ass if you want me to.” 148. “Why do you only kiss me when I’m sleeping?”

The first time happens after Donnie Pfaster.

Scully tells Mulder to take her home, please, and without a word he leads her away from the scene, away from the horrors. In the car, he watches her carefully at every turn he makes. They arrive at the motel in silence and she knows this isn’t home, and she knows they won’t get to go home tonight, but she lets him take him inside his room.

“You can have the bed. I'll…” He never finishes his sentence; not that Scully is listening to him anyway. She curls on the bed, tries to make herself so small, so tiny that no one can ever find her here. She winces when the abrasion on her chin comes in contact with the oh so soft pillow. Her eyes close, but the tears find a way through, tainting the white pillowcase.

“Scully, I know you don’t want - how about you take a shower? Maybe I could have a doctor come here and-

“No. Not tonight, Mulder. I promise I’ll get checked out tomorrow. I promise. I’m fine.” She doesn’t lift her head, refuses to look at him; she is done with him pitying her. All she wants now, all she needs, is sleep.

“Shower?” His voice is closer now, but she can’t tell where he is; he is close, and she wants him to be close, as long as she doesn’t have to look directly at him. With her eyes closed, she can almost feel his arms around her still. His hands on her, just holding her to him, being there for her. But he wasn’t there before. Before. The water. In the bathtub.

“No shower.”

“All right.” His voice is a soft sound; so gentle that she is not sure she’s still awake. Silence fills the room and she listens to her own heartbeat, strong and certain; it’s everything she doesn’t feel right now. There’s another sound chiming in; Mulder. A soft rustling tells her that he’s trying to get comfortable somewhere around here. She is not going to ask him to join her in bed. Not this time. So she listens to his tiny noises creating a lullaby that rocks her gently into sleep.

The dream explodes in vivid colors, blinding her, gagging her.

“Breathe, Scully.”

The words reach her, somewhere, but she can’t get away. She’s running, she’s trying, but the hands are around her throat; they’re grabbing at her, closing in around her throat, choking her, and she can’t even scream.

“Just breathe.”

She takes a deep breath and the hands disappear. Her feet stop moving; no more running. Half-conscious, Scully realizes this is a dream. None of this is real. Not the hands around her throat, not the voice. Mulder, she thinks. Even in my dreams, he is right here by my side.

“That’s right, Scully. Just keep breathing.” The voice sounds so real that she almost wonders. Almost. She feels soft warm lips on her cheek, gently kissing her, and she breathes. She just breathes in and out. The lips descend again, on her lips this time, and now she knows this has to be a dream. It has to be.

“Just keep breathing. I’ll be here.”

When it happens again, Scully has already convinced herself that the first time was a dream. The days after the Donnie Pfaster case are hazy at best and the memory of him, of what happened or didn’t happen, in the motel room are pushed aside when Melissa is killed.

Scully wants to go home, just go home, and they won’t let her. Her apartment is still a crime scene. But she can’t face her mother, who pleads with her daughter to leave her alone, please Dana, and Mulder won’t let her go to a hotel. Alone. Without a word she sits in his car and when he gets in it, he stares at her. No words leave his mouth as his eyes plead with her loudly to please, please look at him. She doesn’t.

The car makes a clicking noise, sounds as tired as Scully feels. Any other day she might have told him to have it checked out. Not tonight. Tonight there is nothing to say. Mulder’s hand lands on the small of her back, some things refusing to ever be affected by tragedy, and leads her down the hall to his apartment. She slips through the door before him and settles herself on his couch. The leather, smelling of him, feels familiar and she closes her eyes briefly, taking a deep breath.

Mulder lingers between the rooms for a moment, decides to leave the lights off, and finally joins her on the couch.

“You should have let me go to a hotel,” Scully says and her voice sounds hollow, “There’s no space for two people here.”

“You take the couch,” Mulder gets up again, takes off his jacket, and sits at his desk, “I’m not tired.”

“Mulder, you’re still in recovery and-”

“No, Scully. I’m fine,” he almost spits the words out and she startles, “You take the couch, you sleep. I’ll be fine. I have a bedroom, you know.” She doesn’t know and in the dim light, she can’t tell if he’s lying. He probably is and maybe she should care. She just doesn’t.

Scully takes the neatly folded blanket from the back of the couch and wraps it around her. She turns away from Mulder, facing the wall, but feels him all around her. He’s in the leather, in the blanket and he’s keeping her safe; despite her not wanting him to. Scully closes her eyes tentatively; what is she going to see there in the darkness of her own thoughts? But it’s just blackness, so she leaves them shut and waits for sleep to take her.

When they were little girls Melissa taught her to even out her breathing so it seemed like she was asleep when she wasn’t. Back then it came in handy when their parents checked on them late at night. They’d pretend to be asleep and as soon as the air was clear, they could go back to whispering secrets or reading. As they grew older, Melissa stopped doing it. Instead, she would stare their parents straight in the eye, explaining that she was old enough to stay up. Little Dana was never brave enough.

And she isn’t brave enough today either.

She evens out her breath, tears falling silently, remembering a sister she will never see again. Mulder’s chair squeaks and then nothing; afraid he might have woken her up again, he waits. Scully wills herself to keep breathing deeply. It works. She feels Mulder move, and then he’s there. Leaning over her. She can do this, she reminds herself. If he knows that she’s only pretending, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he tightens the blanket around her. He still hovers over her, as if trying to decide on something. Then he leans down, kisses her temple, her nose and finally his lips graze hers. There’s a faint memory; how can she remember the feel of his mouth when he’s never kissed her before? Just as quickly, he is gone again. In the distance a door clicks.

There’s no way she can pretend this is just a dream.

They never talk about it, of course. Both have signed this unwritten agreement that prevents them from mentioning any of this. Lingering hugs are shoved aside just like almost kisses; just a spur of the moment thing. Nothing to see here, no, this never happened.  

Mulder visits her in the hospital after she points a gun on him, thinking he was in cohorts with the Cancerman. It’s long after visiting hours, but to Mulder that’s no reason to stay away. Scully wakes almost, expecting a nurse, but her eyes immediately close again when she sees him. He stands next to her and gently brushes a strand of stray hair away. Scully knows she should say something, stop this. But the truth is she craves his kiss; craves his touch on her. The moment stretches on and on and on. Scully feels sleep tug at her heavily and finally it wins out, captures her. She dreams of Mulder kissing her softly. In the morning she can’t recall if he ever did, or if he just made sure she was safe.

Scully slips in and out of sleep without control, without any agenda. Her body fights the aggressive invader and it is getting weaker, the illness taking the upper hand. She doesn’t expect Mulder to be in her room in the middle of the night. Crying. He’s crying and her heart, what is left of it, is breaking for him. With him. Scully wants to take his hand in hers and tell him it will be all right. There is no strength left in her and she falls asleep to the sound of his quiet, lonely sobs. She knows he kisses her; she feels it in her soul, feels how it kindles her flame. Even if only for a short moment.

Mulder kisses her cheek one night when she falls asleep on his couch after her vacation to Maine. Alone. Not a vacation either. She’s exhausted, but she’s missed Mulder (she doesn’t tell him that) and she so she lets him order take out. He tells her about possessed dolls and how he can find books about this phenomenon if she’s interested. All she’s interested in right now is being here with him, close to him. His words follow her into her dream for a while before it all gets quiet.

“I missed you.” Dream or reality. A kiss on the cheek. One day, she knows, this will have to end. Not tonight, though, as sleep carries her away again.

Mulder kisses her neck when they’re stuck sharing a bed in Kroner, Kansas. They’re posing as a married couple in Arcadia, California and Mulder sneaks into her bedroom, kissing her knuckles; caressing them one by one with his lips. By the time Christmas comes around, she thinks they might be ready. She thinks this might be it. They almost kill each other, so maybe not. Not quite yet.

It happens in New York.

She should be dead. People keep telling her that she should not be alive and she nods, staring into the other direction. The implications too heavy to face here, now. Mulder flies out to visit her (another reminder how close she’s gotten, once again) and hardly ever leaves her bedside.

“I’ll kick his ass if you want me to.” They’re sharing her jello, because Mulder looks like he hasn’t eaten (or slept) in days and Scully is beginning to get sick of it already.

“I can kick his ass myself, thank you.”

“Not right now you can’t. I’ll do it, Scully. Just say the word.”

He calls her mother for her, explains everything. When she wakes up he’s staring at her, his eyes heavy with worry, but also with love. She smiles back at him, silently thanking him for being there. For doing it all for her.

He makes his move the third night she’s there. The nurses are well acquainted with him now; they know they can tell him to leave, but he’ll be back as soon as they turn their backs on him. So they no longer try and just greet him, smile even. Mulder is, after all, quite charming if he wants to be. Scully, too, is used to him being there day and night. She tells him to get some sleep from time to time, just leave her alone for a while, but he is adamant about staying.

“You only get into trouble when I’m not around.”

It’s late when Scully feels tiredness wash over her. She yawns and Mulder looks up from the book he’s reading.

“Do you want me to turn off the lights?”

“No, I don’t mind. Good night, Mulder.”

“Good night, Scully.”

For a while, he reads. Scully hears him turn pages every once in a while. She’s tired, but she just can’t sleep. She’s never been a good patient, and all she wants is to go home and sleep in her own bed. Her thoughts distract her for a moment. The book is closed softly and something about this feels different than all the other times. Mulder appears beside her, his body radiating warmth, and when he leans down she can smell his scent. So much Mulder. He kisses her eyelids softly and then brushes her lips. She almost responds; almost opens her mouth to him. But before she can react at all, he is leaving again, and this time it’s not enough.

“Why do you only kiss me when I’m sleeping?”

She hears his sharp intake of breath. Scully sits up and bed and watches him, frozen to the spot at the end of her bed. His shoulders slump and he shoots her a lopsided grin that turns into a sad smile.

“You never let me take care of you when you’re awake.”

“You never asked.”

“Are you sure, Scully? All those times you threw your ‘I’m fine’ line at me. I know you don’t want me to see you as weak. Scully, I’ve never considered you weak. Not once. And I never will. You’re the strongest person I know. I just wish sometimes… that you’d let me be there for you. I never planned to kiss you like this. Wait, you knew about this?”

“I might have been awake once or twice.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Mulder sits down on her bed carefully. She takes her hand in his, feeling confident now.

“I didn’t want you to stop.” She admits, her eyes meeting his.

“So we could have been doing this for real?” His grin is back and now she’s wearing a matching one.

“There’s still time.”

“Scully, can I kiss you?”

“You never asked before.” She tells him, leaning forward slightly and taking the decision from him. She knows the feeling of his soft lips already; it’s nothing compared to the feel of his tongue sliding into her mouth, meeting hers for the first time.

If this is a dream, she doesn’t want to wake up ever again.

anonymous asked:

Hey Mum, I don't know right now if you are taking prompts so you don't have to write or even read this but I like had a really shitty day cause my dad yelled at me again for no reason. So I thought could you like write something were Alex talks to maggie about her childhood how she was yelled at by her parents for things Kara did? And Maggie like just listents and comforts her afterwards? I would mean really much to me. Thank you!

Her hand doesn’t only flit to the bottle when her not-dead father betrays her and everyone she’s ever loved.

Alex also reaches for the bottle – hard – when her very much alive mother comes within a fifty foot radius. Whenever her mother fixes her eyes on her and asks about work, about Kara, about oh Alexandra I don’t understand why everything has to be such a production with you, I only said you look tired because I’m worried about you.

Maggie notices – of course she does – and she switches her wine glass with her water glass, and she rubs her thigh with a steady hand under the table.

She doesn’t make Alex talk about it – she knows that there are some pains neither of them are ready to put to words – but after a particularly harrowing evening of how could you not have known, Alexandra, your sister apparently tried warning you, I thought you were trained to know when someone is manipulating you, Alex lays in Maggie’s lap, and Alex cries, and Alex talks.

“You know Kara broke my arm twice when we were kids? I mean it wasn’t her fault, she was still learning earth physics, the extend of her powers, you know? The first time I just cried – it hurt like nothing I’d felt before, physically – but the second time, I was angry. I yelled. I yelled at her, and my mom defended her. Kara. Which like, you know, sure, it was an accident and Kara was so upset. But instead of letting me calm down and comforting both of us, because we both deserved it in different ways? No no no. Not only did she scold me for yelling at Kara, but somehow it also became my fault that Kara had hurt me in the first place, something about I should have been more diligent about teaching her about our planet.”

Maggie grinds her teeth in bubbling rage, but she doesn’t stop stroking Alex’s hair gently, doesn’t stop nodding in soft encouragement for her to continue.

Because now that the flood gates are open, Alex doesn’t want to stop.

“I’d be doing things like my homework, you know, because nothing less than a perfect score was ever even an option, and suddenly she’d be in my room carrying on about something I had no idea about, like Kara had gotten made fun of or Kara was called out for daydreaming in class or Kara hadn’t chosen the right colleges to apply to – right according to Mom, obviously – or she’d said yes to the wrong boy for a date or she hadn’t pursued the right boy hard enough, hell, I don’t wanna think about what she’s gonna say now when she finds out Kara’s bi, that’ll be my fault somehow too.”

She groans slightly and turns her face into Maggie’s stomach while Maggie leans down to kiss her ear. She smiles against Maggie’s henley and turns back so her wet eyes are gazing up at Maggie again, and her voice cracks as she goes on.

“You know when we thought Dad died in a plane crash, I… I figured that was my fault, too? Because hell, everything else was. All the time. All my fault, everything…”

Her voice squeaks and her lips tremble, because suddenly she’s not in her past – suddenly her past is firmly in her present, and she’s seeing Jeremiah’s destroyed but enhanced but destroyed arm and she’s hearing Jeremiah telling his own daughter to shoot him dead and it’s her fault, her fault, her fault, how could it not be, he’d even gone as far as to say it, her fault, her fault, just like everything, her fault, her fault, her fault.

She doesn’t realize that she’s started to sob until she’s gasping desperately for breath, and Maggie holds her, soothes her, kisses every part of her face she can reach. Alex grabs at Maggie’s shirt and covers the visible part of her face with her other hand, but only for a moment, only for a moment, because Maggie’s soft lips and warm breath and sweet words are more important than hiding, more helpful than shame, more powerful than every ounce of guilt her mother had instilled deep into her bones.

“You’re perfect, Ally,” Maggie whispers when Alex’s breath evens somewhat, when she can breathe rather than gasp.

“You’re perfect, sweetie, and not because you got good grades or because you always did exactly what your mother expected of you. You’re perfect because you’re exactly who you are: because you love so fiercely, because you feel so hard. Because you had every reason to hate Kara because of what your mom made her to you, but you love her so spectacularly, and that… that’s perfect, Alex. You are perfect and you are so, so, so worth it, babe. None of what you’re saying is your fault. None of it. And if I have to spend my entire life arguing with the parts of you that are convinced it’s your fault, I will. I will. And I’ll win.”

Alex swallows a soft sob and she lets Maggie wipe the tear tracks from her face.

“If you win, will I have to eat more vegan ice cream?”

“Oh my god, Danvers.”

“You love me.”

“I do. I do. I do.”

anonymous asked:

I have to disagree with you though, Bertolt turned out to be an asshole in the end, bombing 200 people this time willingly and then asking for help? He even himself said that the meek and obedient him was gone, he looked apathetic too, the guy never minded this. Annie & Reiner may have been conflicted but it didnt affect him much and i think Reiner may have cared for Annie&Marcel more because they played important part in motivating him. He wasnt as important and fleshed out as those two were

Ok, anon.. are we reading the same manga here or…

Bertolt turned out to be an asshole in the end, bombing 200 people this time willingly and then asking for help? 

If you have a moment, which considering you had the time to send this ask, you do, please read this. It will answer half of your issue :)

You’re calling him out because he cried out for help while staring death in the face? He was scared and scared of dying, are you forgetting that this kid is human? Bertholdt wasn’t the “guy that never minded this” from the beginning, what you saw during that battle was his utter desperation to end it all and he didn’t even believe what he was saying himself.. Your justification of “him saying it himself” simply means you haven’t taken the time to look into his character and understand him.

All I can tell you is read that linked post.

the guy never minded this.

Again, are we reading the same manga?

i think Reiner may have cared for Annie&Marcel more 

We’re still talking about same manga?

He wasnt as important and fleshed out as those two were

If we’re going to talk about the importance of fleshing out a character, have you noticed that Mikasa has had little no to character development since the beginning of the series either? That she carries a ton of unused potential but lives in the shadows of her male counterparts? That while she still dies trying to protect Eren and Armin, like she did in the beginning of the series, the other two are growing as characters while she’s kinda just there?

The fact that you haven’t taken the time to go through past chapters to try to understand Bertl as a character isn’t on me. The way you want to interpret his character isn’t on me.

untitled brohm ficlet

Bryce, by nature, does not get irritated often or easily. He likes to take things in stride, roll with the punches, that sort of thing – because it never does anyone any good in the long run to get angry over silly things. So, Bryce kinda has the patience of a saint.

Delirious, however, is kinda testing this.

“Bryce, stop coming for me!” Cartoonz screeches as he hops a window with Bryce barely missing the hit.

Bryce starts laughing, just as Delirious says, “yeah, don’t come for Cartoonz, you’re supposed to come for your boyfriend, Ohm!”

Cartoonz cracks up as Bryce cuts off with a groan, trying to count down from ten in his head to keep from saying something legitimately angry. Ohm, the asshole, is definitely not helping.

“Oh, yeah, come for me Brycey~” Ohm says into the mic, low and up-close, causing Delirious and Cartoonz’s laughter to spark anew and Bryce to lean into his own mic with a frown.

“Stop encouraging them, boyfriend,” Bryce quips, trying to keep it light as he smacks Cartoonz. This causes a high-pitched yelp from the man, making Bryce smile (only a bit) evilly. Then a thought crosses Bryce’s mind, giving him pause – what if Ohm had told Delirious they were dating? He makes a mental note to ask Ohm about it after the game is finished.

“Stop pissing him off Delirious, it’s making him better!” Cartoonz cries, screeching again as he once more barely escapes getting hit, stunning Bryce’s character by pulling down a pallet.

“It’s fine,” Delirious says, and Bryce preemptively sucks in a breath, preparing for the worst. “Ohm can just calm him down with a blow job or something.”

Bryce lets out the breath he was holding as the others burst out laughing. He rolls his eyes at Ohm’s prominent, obnoxious laughter and opens his mouth, starting to lose his cool.

“Y'know, Ohm, you could help me out,” Bryce says, words clipped and annoyed as he wanders around looking for a survivor (he had lost Cartoonz).

“Yeah, but this is way funnier,” Ohm answers through his giggles, and Bryce valiantly resists another eye roll.

Before today, Bryce could count on one hand the amount of times Delirious had jokingly referred to Ohm as his boyfriend. And now he would need both hands, just from the start of this recording session.

It had started actually before they’d even started recording, when Ohm was taking way longer than normal to get on and Delirious, laughing, asked Bryce where his boyfriend was. Bryce had snorted and answered that he had no idea who Delirious could be talking about, and Delirious only laughed harder. Then Ohm joined and Bryce forgot about it (as he does most of the weird things Delirious says) in light of making fun of Ohm for sounding winded while apologizing for being late (apparently Buddy had gotten out and Ohm had to chase him down).

Then, about ten minutes into their first game where Cartoonz was the killer, Delirious got hooked and Ohm and Bryce were trying to coordinate an organized rescue, since Cartoonz was the trapper. Then Delirious barked out, “will you quit jerking off your boyfriend and come save me, Bryce!”

Cartoonz and Ohm laughed, and Bryce struggled to keep the smile on his face.

“Yeah, definitely not saving you now,” Bryce said, causing more laughter, even as he and Ohm crept closer. “Also, definitely still single.”

“Yeah, tell that to Ohm’s dick,” Delirious responded, and this time Bryce actually did stop walking and considered abandoning him.

“Wait, me?!” Ohm shrieked, incredulous, yet still undeniably amused, and this just served to grate on Bryce’s nerves even further. “Why am I the boyfriend?”

Bryce reluctantly started trailing Ohm again, and they finally reached Delirious’ hook as he was commenting, “don’t pretend like you don’t want his booty, Ohm!”


Whatever Ohm would have said was cut off when Bryce got Delirious down from the hook after Ohm disarmed the bear trap. Cartoonz screamed, “you little shits!” and they all took off in different directions running and giggling.

Then later, during the same round, Ohm was attempting to get Cartoonz off of Bryce by popping a generator multiple times. Which Bryce normally would be grateful for (even if it never worked), but then Delirious made a comment.

“You would try to save your boyfriend, you didn’t do jack shit when I was being chased!”

Ohm spluttered something unintelligible while Bryce bit out a “not my boyfriend!”

Cartoonz, meanwhile, cackled as he struck Bryce. “Are we confirming Bryce and Ohm being in a relationship today?”

“No!” Bryce and Ohm chorused simultaneously with Delirious’ “YES! Bless their little gay hearts!”

Cartoonz laughed, Bryce got downed, and really that was the first true test of his patience and will to stay calm and professional. He barely succeeded, and he hoped that with the new round where Ohm was the killer, everyone would forget about the whole ‘boyfriend’ thing and move their banter towards less innuendo.

Of course, that was just wishful thinking, given how gay Ohm is wont to be at any given moment.

“Oh Brycey~” Ohm called, while Bryce did everything in his power to avoid getting hit again, and if that meant cheesing the heck out of cheat spots, then by gosh he’d be shameless. “Let me have just one more taste of that booty~ Just one more~?”

“Nope! My booty is not for sampling!” Bryce yelled back, earning him a high-pitched laugh from Ohm.

“Aww, aren’t they so cute, Cartoonz?” Delirious cut in, and Bryce’s smile slipped. “Boyfriend and boyfriend!”

“Adorable~!” Cartoonz cooed, and Bryce was about to return with a sassy remark when Ohm let out a very loud grunt as he struck Bryce, downing him.

“Noooo!” Bryce was instantly distracted, rushing to wiggle free after Ohm picked him up.

That is, until Delirious made the comment, “aww, look Cartoonz! He’s carrying him over the threshold!”

Cartoonz started to say something, but Bryce yelled over him, “will you two shut up and help me!

Shockingly, that was the last instance during Ohm’s killer round, but then Delirious’ came around. Arguably, the worst of all three. There wasn’t a time in that round where Delirious didn’t refer to them as boyfriends or lovers or something of a similar caliber. Even if it was Bryce and Cartoonz together or Cartoonz and Ohm, if Delirious found two of them together he’d still make jokes about Bryce and Ohm being stuck together like glue. Ohm’s propensity to encourage him by making benign comments in response about Bryce being clingy or something or laughing in response was not helping.

If Ohm was on Bryce’s side in this, then maybe Delirious would stop, but instead Ohm was arguably making it worse. Like when Bryce got hooked, and Delirious immediately called for his 'boyfriend’ to come save him. Ohm had just laughed and said he was busy on a generator – no denials, no nothing, as he crept closer to rescue Bryce. This left a low-key irate Bryce to do damage control alone.

The trend obviously continued to their fourth round, where Bryce is the killer. Leading them to now, with Bryce barely keeping himself from snapping at his friends (mostly Delirious, but also Ohm) and channeling all his rage into killing them all.

He is deadly quiet as he trails after Delirious, who isn’t taking too kindly to his silence.

aaaand that is it folks! let me know if you want to read more and i’ll try to write more for this~! ^^


So, I had planned to write Captain Charming post that  ep… but instead it’s mostly Killian/Snow  interaction.  I don’t even know.

              He’s pacing outside the loft when Snow opens the door.

              It startles him for a moment, seeing her rather than Dave.  He knows the two have been trading out, of course, but he’s spent so much time with her husband, that seeing Snow leaves him unsure for a moment.

              He hadn’t known what he would say to Dave, those bloody pages burning a hole in his pocket, so now that he’s faced with the man’s wife instead, he’s left utterly speechless.

              Snow looks at him for a long moment with those eyes so like Emma’s.  Her purse is draped over her arm, but after a moment of looking at him, she sets it aside and opens her door wider.

              “Come in, Killian.”

              “I…” Killian scratches his ear, not knowing what to do.  “You were leaving.  I don’t wish to keep you.”

              “It’s not important. Come in, Killian.”

              He obeys the order the second time it’s given, and perches on a chair at the counter, watching Snow as she moves around the kitchen. It takes her just minutes to put together some tea, and then she joins him at the counter, placing large mugs in front of them both.

              “You’re troubled,” Snow remarks, and it surprises Killian somewhat.  Dave doesn’t tend to notice when he’s troubled so quickly, and Emma would immediately ask what was wrong.  But Snow just watches him and waits

              Killian thinks to out wait her, burying his attention in his mug. But her gaze is a heavy weight  on the top of his head as he stares into his mug, and finally, to turn her attention elsewhere, he pulls out the page and tosses them in front of her.


              “If you’re worried about making Emma think poorly of her friend, then you shouldn’t. It’s not like you ran off to this-”

              “The man in the pages is David’s father.” Killian stares into the tea, even as he cuts Snow off, unable to bear the thought of her trying to make him feel better.  And the words don’t stop at that.  “I killed him.”

              Silence again, and he can feel her gaze on him once more.  Killian can’t look up.  Not when he knows that he’ll see disappointment – or worse, hatred – in those eyes so similar to the woman he loves.  

              “Does David know?”

              It’s the tone that makes Killian’s head jerk up. Because there isn’t anger there, but rather compassion.  It’s a testament, to how very kind Snow is, that her expression is that of empathy.

              “We thought it was George.  It would have been George… but I was there.  I should have let him go free, but it would be an irritant, to have a king after me.  So I murdered him, and never thought of him again except…”

              He looks at those damning pages, and recalls his own childhood, and that feeling of abandonment – the one that ruins a boy and leaves him ruined into manhood – and it makes him feel ill, to know that it’s his fault that Dave knows that bitter experience as well.

              “I didn’t know.  Not until the puppet brought me those pages last night.”

              He’d gone through the motions with Emma, and his loving may have been a bit fiercer, because he’d known it might be the last time. He should have told her… but another part of him needed to tell Dave first. And yet another part had needed one last taste of her, before he very likely lost her forever.

              Emma Swan wasn’t the type to welcome the murderer of her own family into his bed.

              He had left that morning before Emma awoke, and wandered the streets  until the  clock hit an acceptable time and he’d found himself outside the loft..

              “And now you’re here,” Snow remarks.  “To tell him.”

              He can’t say anything, just nods miserably.  Snow joins him, and runs a hand over his hair.  It’s such a motherly gesture, and Killian has few memories of his mother, so he has to close his eyes lest he embarrass them both with his tears.

              “You’re a good man, Killian Jones.” He shudders, and his breath is a sob at Snow’s words.  She hugs him, and he can’t help but hug her back.  “You may not have always been, but you are now. David knows that.  Tell him, and then give him time.”

              “Why are you being so kind to me?” he asks her, as she walks away.  She keeps her back to him as she cleans her mug, and Killian is thankful, as it gives him a moment to  wipe away the tears that want to fall. “Dave… this tore him up. And it’s because of me.”

              “You’re tearing  yourself up enough for  us both. And maybe  I understand  you a little more than you think.  Despite my name, I’m not entirely without darkness,  Killian.”

              He thinks that her darkness is nothing to his,  but then  again, who is he to belittle the pain others carry?


              “Will forgive you, because she knows you’ve changed. So will David. You’re here, Killian. You’re telling the truth. That… it counts for a lot.”

              Killian swallows and gives the smallest of nods, though he doesn’t quite believe her.  Snow’s expression  says she knows his thoughts, but rather than say anything more, she wipes her hands and heads for the steps.

              “I’ll wake David for you… Killian?  Just tell him the truth.  The way you told it to me.  Whatever happens, I believe it will work out in the end.”

              Killian says nothing and for a moment he considers fleeing.  But then a heavier tread comes down the steps, and now it’s Dave.

              Killian swallows, and lets him read the pages, and decides to do exactly as Snow had suggested.

              And perhaps, someday, he’ll regain all he’s sure he’ll lose.

sunday, 3am

“Gently,” she stressed.

Sitting on the sink-counter, she looked washed-out in the harsh fluorescent light of their bathroom, a little spatter of blood staining the shoulder of her light blue scrubs, her skin a wintery kind of pale and her freckles fading as though they’d been one of God’s afterthoughts. Her braid rested tattered and ripped down her spine, long red strands falling in front of the bruises on her cheek, and as he carded her hair back behind her ear, she flinched involuntarily, her shaky hands stilling on her lap, her breath hitching.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, the bag of ice in his hand hovering before her, his brain buzzing in the overtired way he used to feel accustomed to. If his circadian rhythms were reliable, then he and his body estimated that three in the morning, maybe half past, had come and gone. A long time ago, she’d told him that keeping lights on from the nighttime hours of ten-to-ten harmed the brain’s ability to produce melatonin, but he figured that light would be the least of their worries tonight.

Softly, she met his gaze, then looked back down at her lap.

“Sorry,” she said, wincing at the word. “I’m just…I’m still a little shaken up.”

He nodded, then gingerly brought the ice to her cheek, and though she recoiled at first, luckily she eased against his touch, let out a deep, exhausted breath.

“Is there any bleeding?” she asked, her voice muffled by the ice.

“None at all,” he said.

She swallowed, said, “The nurse there seemed like she was doing a great job of cleaning it.”

“And you’re absolutely sure you’re not concussed?” he asked as he leaned against the sink, the house around them so still and silent that it made the winter beyond them feel heavier and thicker than it already was. 

Looking up at him, she delicately pressed her lips together, said, “Had the nurse check. No headache or dizziness. I’m fine, Mulder.”

“Okay,” he said, nodding to himself. 

Though she avoided late shifts and preferred not to work on Saturdays, she’d been on a Saturday evening to Sunday morning emergency room shift, eight pm to eight pm, but a one am call let him know that a drunk patient, a punch to the face, and some police involvement meant that she would be coming home early. The last time he, in her words, went caveman left them both embarrassed and uncomfortable, but now, he wished he could’ve been there, could’ve watched over her and had her back so that some drunkard would’ve never decked her behind a modesty curtain, wouldn’t have had a chance to let her head thud against a sterile linoleum floor before punching her again. Though he wanted to think of this protectiveness as more than an ancient biological imperative, though he wished he didn’t find himself at fault for something so clearly irrelevant to his existence, he still brought Duane Barry and Phillip Padgett and all of the other men who had wronged her to mind, wondered once more if he could’ve done more. While at the Bureau, he could’ve argued that he was her partner, that it was of the utmost importance for them to watch each other’s backs, but now, he could hardly merit the wish.

And had he been there, he probably would’ve been decked too, only he would’ve cried about it instead of stoically driving home afterward like she did. Sometimes, he figured, the universe chose to punch the ones who could take it, not the ones who couldn’t.

“You’re never working a night shift again,” he said, hoping to elicit a laugh or at least a pained smile; thankfully, she reached toward him, wrapped her fingers in his open hand, kept her eyes down but let him know that she was present and receptive anyway. 

“I sure hope not,” she said, “but if they ever want me to, I’m sure that citing this incident will make them change their minds.”

Softly, he laughed, and though he figured it would hurt her to smile, the purplish and red smears of bruises on her cheeks keeping her from moving her face too much, she still quirked her lip, the movement minute but visible. 

“Did you have any Advil before you got home?” he asked.

“I had one before I left the hospital.” 

“Do you think you’ll be able to sleep?”

She sucked her lips in again, met his gaze, so he nodded in understanding. He figured neither or them would be getting much sleep tonight.

“Well,” he said, his voice turning theatrical, “I can offer some warm milk-”

“No hot liquids,” she said quickly. “Have to keep the swelling down.”

“Okay,” he said, off-put. There went his ideas for chamomile tea and maybe a warm bath in order to calm her down. “Then, cold water.”


He squeezed her hand.

“What are you looking for, then?” he asked. “My mind goes numb after midnight.”

Taking a deep breath, she said, “A movie, something mindless. Just until we feel we could fall asleep.”

So she shed her blood-smeared scrubs and opted for pajamas and thick socks; while she migrated to the couch, held the ice against her more bluish cheek, he rifled through their bookshelf, found Sleepless in Seattle and liked the irony it provided, so he popped the tape in, the lights off in their living room, the fish tank fluorescent and bubbling in the background, the winter winds shifting the shutters on their fixer-upper farmhouse. He sat on her less-bruised side, and as she spread a shared blanket over their laps, he fast-forwarded coming attractions of many years ago, her two hands wrapping around his free one. While the movie began, he tuned Meg Ryan out and kept his eyes on her instead, tried to survey her body for telltale signs of stress. 

She’d told him long ago that she felt anxiety not in her mind but in her limbs, in her joints; while her thoughts told her to push forward, her body cringed and faded, her demise coming not from her will but from her physical breakdown, so he’d tried to be a constant for her, had kept track of her hours and made sure that, even when she seemed so determined to finish just one more stack of paperwork, she would go home for a good night’s rest instead. From those many times, he knew what to look for: raised shoulders, shaky hands, huffed breaths, glasses pushed up far more often than one would expect. However, tonight shifted that response because her breakdown had come from a patient, not from herself, so while she took shallow breaths during the movie, he traced his thumb against the back of her hand, let her lean into him with her face angled so that his shoulder and her bruises never quite made contact. As four am ticked past, he realized that he’d never watched this movie in full, but because he’d distracted himself during the first half of the film, he hadn’t a clue where the plot went.

“Scully?” he whispered, almost wincing at how his voice interrupted the special, rural silence around them. 

When she didn’t shift, he craned his neck, and though he should’ve been able to tell through her long, languid breaths against his chest, he only noticed that she’d fallen asleep when he looked down and saw her closed eyes. Reaching for the remote, he turned the television off, and with deft, gentle motions, he managed to lift her up without waking her - after all, she could sleep anywhere, from passenger’s seats of cheap rental cars to bleach-ridden motel beds to his old leather couch back before he’d been able to offer her a bed instead - and carried her upstairs though his aging joints protested with each step. 

Thankful that he’d left the bed unmade after she’d called, he managed to slip her beneath the overturned sheets on his side of the bed, tucked her in before he climbed in on the other still-made side. Out here, the nights were dark save for the endless lines of unobstructed stars in the sky, so he kept their bedroom’s blinds up, soft light falling over her bruising face, the rise and fall of her chest shifting the duvet while she slept. Her pillow smelled like that lavender shampoo she liked, and though the stuffing was too thick for him, he found that he could still relax into it, their respective alarm clocks off for now, her bedside book-stack dwindling as his seemed only to grow larger, her reading glasses askew and the closet door left open in a way that would’ve scared him as a child. 

And he presented himself with two lonely options: either he could work out hundreds of different scenarios that left her unscathed and him some kind of half-assed hero, or he could watch her soft breaths until their cadence lulled him to sleep. For once, he picked the second option and drifted off before morning began to creep through the windows.

anonymous asked:

I don't know if you're still into marvel at all, but maybe a nurseydex au where dex is natasha and nursey is clint? If you're looking for prompts?

me: *whispering* idk if this is at all what you wanted but i read this prompt and literally could not get this one thing out of my head also ilu and this idea

The train rattles by Solenski Plaza, and Will notes it as a reminder of the time, filing it away in the recesses of his mind like he’s been trained to do since childhood. He counts the cars by the jostling of their connections over the rails, just to have something to do.

He’d pay attention to the beating, but it’s really just not interesting enough.

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He Tian x Mo Guanshan -Don’t ever leave me again-

For you, dear anon! <3 Thank you for waiting for me to finish this, it took a while but I stuffed my whole heart into this. Don’t worry, it’s not just angst, there is some major fluff at the end. *wedding bells tolling in the background* I hope you enjoy!



He Tian raised his fist, threatening and his eyes burning like black fire. Hate was oozing from every piece of his body, nothing else mattered besides the feeling of loss and regret. God, he was so fucking gone.

The other man stared right back at him, sinister as the night and a cruel smirk adorning his lips, wide and disgustingly wrong. Black strands of sweaty, bloody hair stuck to his prominent high cheek bones and forehead, throwing dark shadows over the top half of the face he loathed. He couldn’t stand it and rammed his hand into the mirror, breaking it into thousands of pieces, destroying his own accusing reflection, the last thing he wanted to see. A silent scream ripped his throat like one of the glass shards, his whole body felt heavy, so heavy. His knees gave in and he sacked against the wall, slowly sliding down at it, his cut hand leaving bloody prints on the white tiles. As if he’d give a fuck.


 His lips twitched from holding back a laugh. There was nothing. The bathroom door was still open, the house still empty and he was still not…

Slowly, he leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling.

Pathetic, his father would have said. His brother would have said. And worst of all, if he would have witnessed him in this godforsaken second, he would have been of the same opinion.

It was his fault and he deserved this, if he hadn’t just been that sure of himself. Not that sure of his strength. Not that sure that everything would stay within his control. Not that convinced of his options to work out as planned.

Guanshan, his one and only weakness.

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anonymous asked:

My English teacher left me very confused when learning about Romeo and Juliet. He said that it wasn't a love story because they didn't love each other; Juliet just basically used Romeo, but I don't know what to think. Can you please explain to me if it's a love story, tragedy, or both?

Did your teacher say that Juliet used Romeo? How rude.

The first thing we have to remember is that the feud is the exponent of an unhealthy ideology that promotes violence, hatred, prejudice, and brutal misogyny. Don’t ever forget the world they lived in. Romeo and Juliet are not normal teenagers living in a normal world and making stupid decisions. They are children whose mental health ends up destroyed by the ideals of their families. I just won’t stand anyone who refers to them as ‘dumb’ because it’s a very insulting way of dismissing the destructiveness of social oppression and abuse. It’s so evident that their families caused their deaths that at the end of the play nobody has the guts to blame them for their own deaths and dismiss their emotions as shallow or dishonest. What they have done is too monstrous for them to deny. When both patriarchs find the young lovers dead together in the crypt they see the wrong in their actions and take responsibility for it. They know they killed their children. It was not teenage folly that ruined Romeo and Juliet. It was a sick society that glorified violence and prejudice.

Perhaps your male teacher is annoyed by the fact that Juliet hardly fits in the role of a sixteenth-century obedient wife who goes along with whatever her husband has to say. On the contrary, Juliet has a voice of her own. It is evident from the first conversation between the lovers that she has a very particular, specific way of thinking, and which doesn’t necessarily match that of Romeo. For instance, she gently mocks his stereotyped courtship when she says “you kiss by the book.” I would say she is a far better poet than him—he actually learns from her. Think about the way she corrects him when he tries to swear his love by the moon. She literally rationalizes everything. Romeo needs to get on her level. Later on, he will ask her to “sweeten with thy breath / This neighbour air, and let rich music’s tongue / Unfold the imagined happiness that both / Receive in either by this dear encounter,” to which Juliet answers that “conceit, more rich in matter than in words, / Brags of his substance, not of ornament”. You see, she doesn’t always agree with him, and she presents her own points of view resolutely. She is the one to give lessons.

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anonymous asked:

Hey Matty :) Questions about the Predator (if you don't mind answering ofc ^^: How will Oliver interact with Felicity in private once they embrace their feelings for each other ? Will he be gentle and demonstrate his feelings? Or will he continue to maintain a cold and intense posture?Btw how can he be so teasing in texts and not face to face?xD that confuses me lol Did Oliver ever fall in love in his past? Or is this new territory for him?Thx for your time :)

Good lord, so many questions, anon! 

Forget been in love, Oliver Queen has never loved anybody in The Predator. For twenty years, he’s been surrounded with people - people who trained him, people who fear him, people whom he is loyal to - but he’s never let anyone get even slightly close to him. His isolation has been on choice (maybe a form of punishment or what he thinks he deserves…) 

Dante and Amara, while can be considered closest to him in a lot of ways, are still not close to him. They know of his past, they know of his growing up, but it’s never been something he’s shared with them. Oliver Queen does not share feelings (which is what makes that rainy night against the glass window and his “did I hurt you?” so very unique…) They learned what they did from other sources. But they know he considers them good only by the fact that he allows them to be by his side, allows them to show him some form of affection if they wish, allows them into his house - a place that is sacrosanct to him. 

He’s isolated himself completely from any emotional interaction. He’s withdrawn himself into a tight ball of pain and self-hatred that he never allows to unravel. All he lets out, only to a known few, is the rage. Keeping up his mask, his facade, has become first nature to him. His instinct is to not feel, to not let it show, to never let anybody guess that he’s capable of not only feeling but he also has a weak spot. 

Her name is Felicity Smoak.

From the moment she smiled her toothless grin at him to the moment she looked at him with fire in her eyes and curses on her lips, Oliver Queen has known deep inside that she is his one weak spot. And he’s worked very, very hard to hide it because if she finds out, she could exploit it - the same way every person who’s known a weakness in him has exploited it. 

I won’t say much about what happens next, except enjoy the ride because it will be bumpy and messy and real. When they do come together (which will take time because Oliver has to prove he’s not manipulating her and Felicity has to prove that she won’t exploit his weakness - trust comes very, very, very hard to both of them and while they may have taken baby steps, there’s still a long way to go), it will be… interesting.

I don’t think this Oliver can ever be anything less than intense, even when he’s truly, madly, absolutely, I-ll-fucking-move-heaven-and-earth-to-make-her-smile-that-smile, I-ll-kill-anyone-who-ever-threatens-to-take-her-from-me, I-ll-make-her-feel-safe-and-free-and-so-love-she-ll-never-be-alone-again love.

He’ll be gentle in a lot of ways when they’re in private, but the intensity of his personality will not diminish. Nor would Felicity want it to. She’ll fall in love with him, intensity and all, and she’ll want that. By that point, she’ll want the wild bites on her neck that are natural to him - but she’ll know he loves her when he licks them softly afterward, a simple gesture he’d never do otherwise. She’ll want the mindless fucking against that window - but she’ll know he loves her when he picks her up and carries her to his bed and ravishes her softly the whole night. She’ll want heated fights - but she’ll know he loves her when he’ll quietly sit behind her on the floor in the dark, watching the rain as she’ll lean into him, nuzzling her hair and whispering, “Did I hurt you?”

He’ll never be flowery or sweet, maybe. But she doesn’t need that. She knows him, even now, better than anyone. She reads him better than anyone. He knows that. While he will give her overt words at some point, mostly, his gestures, his actions will tell her, and that’s how she’ll know they’re true. 

She wants it all. She wants him.

Just as he wants her. He wants her to be grumpy with him like she’s never been allowed to be with anyone else. He wants her to threaten to kick his ass while planting his face with kisses. He wants her to moan in delight when he cooks something good for her, and then kiss that moan off her lips. He wants her soft body cuddled next to his at night even as he sleeps with a gun. 

Oliver will never be mushy. The world he lives in, even in their private bubble, will never allow him to let himself be that soft. That’s just not who he is. Felicity will be, after a point. Because she wants to be. She wants someone with whom she can be completely herself, be all soft and cute and adorable, and still feel safe and protected and completely loved.   

And love and cherish and protect her he will.

You can check out more of my thoughts about Oliver in love under The Predator tag.

Spike & Buffy

One time Spike suggested being able to beat Buffy in a fight. The resulting argument lasted days, before they both decided that considering their relationship now they couldn’t be expected to have a fight to the death. So they went to get an outside judge. Giles just shook his head and muttered “Children,” Dawn burst out laughing, and Andrew looked more terrified than anyone had ever seen him. So they’ve decided to call it a draw. 

Spike says he puts blood on his ice cream. Buffy thinks that’s in the top ten of the most disgusting things she’s ever seen. And she fights demons all the time. In truth though, Spike has only tried blood and ice cream once and thought it was gross. But the expression on Buffy’s face when he tells her the strawberry syrup is blood is just too cute. Plus it stops her from stealing any. 

While no one can remember who started it, someone once suggested how funny it would be to see an arm wrestling match between Buffy and Spike. They took the suggestion very seriously. Before long, the scoobies were taking bets, for serious amounts of money. But no one was sure they actually wanted to be in the room when it happen, so to this day, Xander may or may not owe Andrew 300 dollars. It’s still a running argument. 

Giles doesn’t feel a hundred percent comfortable with the two of them patrolling together anymore.There have been many nights were they come back injured and covered in demon blood with just the explanation of “He dared me to start a fight in a demon bar,” or “She said I couldn’t take whole vampire nest by myself,”

Buffy loves it when Spike reads to her. Anything. They’ll curl up on the couch or in bed, and Spike’ll read to her until she dozes off. It’s usually poetry, but sometimes stories, things in other languages, Giles’ old books, she’ll even have him read Dawn or Xander’s texts out loud to her. 

Buffy often feels tempted to describe Spike as giant cat. The purring and growling noises he makes make him seem like a kitten, and he melts when she pets his back or scratches under his chin. She’s sure he would curl up in the sunlight if he could without burning, and she’s come up with a lot of theories about how he’d react if she pulled out a laser pointer. 

Spike has found out that Buffy can fall asleep anywhere. He figures it’s from all the late nights slaying and needing to get rest anywhere she can. He’s found her asleep standing up, leaning on the wall of the hallway, draped over the couch like she had been about to sit down, or even on the floor of the apartment, only barely inside the door. He carries her back to bed every time.

Buffy and Spike both have nightmares. When one of them wakes up shaking in a cold sweat, the other takes them into the kitchen, makes hot chocolate and leads them to the roof, where they watch the stars and maybe talk about the dream or just about anything. They both get the feeling of having to claw their way out of their grave, and other pains, so they’re there for each other. 

boykuto-koutarou  asked:

I love the request you wrote for me, so beautiful.. Thank you❤ I hope you don't mind if I request again hehe.. So how about scenario of Aomine, when his gf come over his home at midnight(and raining) just for cuddle and kiss because they haven't seen each others because of the busy weeks? Looking forward to your amazing writing, thanks ;)

AHH! I’m really glad you enjoyed the last one! I was a bit worried, but well.. Who doesn’t like nsfw with Aomine?? XDD. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the fluff now C;

He’d been laying in bed, reading some magazine and listening to music when he heard the faint tapping. At first he thought he was imagining it, so he continued to bob his head. But when there was a ‘snap’, followed by a yelp, he jumped off his bed, knocking everything over as he went to the window.

“_-____?! What are you doing?” 

You chuckled sheepishly, fingers holding onto the ledge as rain continued to pelt your form. Okay.. Maybe you should’ve gave him a head’s up first BEFORE trying to sneak over..

“Just hanging around..?” you ask, knowing it wasn’t a good time for puns. But before you could say anything, Aomine was pulling you through his window, helping you stand on your feet.

“You should’ve texted or called.. I would’ve met up with you..” he mumbles, looking at the window before meeting your eyes once more,  “That was dangerous and you could’ve been hurt ____!”

You felt your shoulders sag, eyes downcast as you whispered, ‘I know’ dejectedly.. He blushed, scratching his head before taking you to his bathroom, giving you a towel. 

“Here.. dry yourself off. I’ll go see if I find you some clothes..”

You nodded, biting your lip as you turned around. Mud and dirt caked your form, and you wondered if he was.. bothered by you being here.. You didn’t bother to tell him, showing up unannounced, and nearly fell from the tree.. If he hadn’t caught you when he did…

When Aomine returned, he saw you were crying, and immediate worry laced his heart.

“What happened?! Are you hurt ____?”

You shook your head, burying your face in the towel to try and hide the shame from him. But you knew he wouldn’t have that, so when he tried to pull it away, you kept your eyes shut.

“_____… Look at me… please…?”

At his hushed tone, you turned your head, biting your lip when he kissed your eyelid. You let him help you out of your clothing, feeling comforted when his scent hit your nostrils. And when he picked you up, you clung to his form, burying your face in his neck as he carried you back to his room.

He quickly went to throw your clothes in the wash, before shutting the door, plopping himself on the mattress and looking at you.

“What happened?”

He watches as you bite your lip, and he wants to ask you again, but he’s silenced by your voice, timid and soft.

“….I… I missed you… So I wanted to see you…”

His eyes widened, and understanding washed over him. He cupped your cheek, tilting your head as he pressed a chaste kiss to your lips.

“I missed you too.. You know I’d never say ‘no’ to you coming over ____. Just next time.. Let me know okay? I’ll pick you up myself.”

You blushed, but nodded, giving him a timid smile.

“I… I wanted to surprise you…”

He sighed, rubbing the back of your head as he shook his head,

“You almost fell from the tree ____. If anything, you would’ve given me a heart attack.. Then what?”

“…I.. We could share a bed at the hospital?”

He raised an eyebrow, “I’m pretty sure they don’t allow that..” he flicked your forehead, kissing it tenderly when you laughed.

“Anyway, get some sleep yeah? If you want me to be on time for practice, we have to get up early.”

You pouted, but when he held you to his chest, it was wiped away immediately, being replaced with a smile. You curled in his arms, loving how they felt against your skin as sleep overtook you.

“Hm.. I love you Daiki…”

“Love you too..”

#149 - For skamdalised & anonymous x2

Filling the prompts “one where the reader goes on like a hike or something with the band and they’re a bit unfit and you make fun of them and van gets a bit salty and you have to cheer him up?” from @skamdalised , “camping with van and the boys?” and “Cute fluffy summery Van? Like he wants the reader to teach him how to make daisy chains and him getting all frustrated because he can’t do it right and her making him a flower crown and shit” from anonymous x2.

Camilla stood in the middle of the living room with her hands on her hips. Never seeing her so serious, you exchanged a look with Van.

“You want us… to… voluntarily exercise?” Bondy asked, genuinely confused.

“The hike isn’t the point. It’s not even that bad. We’ve done it heaps of times before,” she said.

“Yeah. You and Bob have done. You’re both, like, fit, and stuff,” Benji replied.

“Look. It’s his birthday. He doesn’t want a party or anything, but I think he’d like something. He loves you guys and you only really hang out when it’s about the band and I think this will be fun. We can camp a couple of nights along the trail and the views are amazing. The weather should warm up by then. Please? For Bob?” she asked again.

The proposal was that for Bob’s birthday you’d hike up some mountain and camp. The obvious apprehension the boys felt was that it seemed like a lot of physical exercise for people that smoked multiple packets of cigarettes a day and did not wake up at dawn to go for a run. Cam - Bob’s girlfriend of many years - never asked for much. The fact that she was willing to all but beg was enough to get people on side. She sweetened the deal by saying she’d supply weed, and all girlfriends were invited.

Keep reading

psheadcanons - high school au taekook

(Suggested by @gaytrash6969)

Bad boy kook and shy tae

These are a little different than usual but I hope you like it!

(Btw kook is a year older than tae in this one)

-jungkook wants to fuck
-to be more precise, he wants to fuck the cute artist boy who’s body is as much of a masterpiece as his paintings
-he wants to see him writhing underneath him in pleasure, screaming his name so loudly all his neighbours could hear who he belongs to
-but tae was really shy
- and always finding an excuse to avoid kook when the older boy tried to approach him
-kook started to get frustrated because of this
-was tae really so fucking scared of him?
-spoiler alert: he wasn’t
-tae just happened to have a massive crush on kook
-that, combined with his shyness, lead to tae avoiding kook so he could avoid any awkward moments
-“just stop avoiding him and talk to him the next time he approaches you"
-“what if he doesn’t want to talk though? what if he just wants to beat me up?”
-“tae he’s not going to beat you up, you know he doesn’t hit pretty boys”

-“well i’ve heard of other things he does to pretty boys…”

-“they’re all true and trust me, he does those things well”

-“jimin!” -“what?

” -two days later tae saw kook walking towards him with a determined look on his face

-he froze in the middle of opening his locker and swallowed

-jungkook didn’t say anything, he just closed tae’s locker and pinned the younger against it

-“you’ve been avoiding me, huh?”

-“n-no i hav-“

-“don’t you dare lie to me. are you scared? afraid i’ll hit your pretty face, is that it?”

-“you think i’m pretty?“

-“that wasn’t the point-”

-“answer me”

-“..hell no, you’re more than just pretty”

-aaaand that is how you get a boyfriend


-what even are cuddles

-i don’t think kook has even heard of them

-extremely rare

-always initiated by tae

-exept that one time when tae had had a bad day and kook wanted to cheer him up


-tae has a lot of nicknames for kook

-he uses them all the time even though it annoys kook

-(kook secretly likes some of them but shhh you didn’t hear this from me) -kook’s favourite nickname is master

-kook isn’t that fond of giving nicknames

-but he still has multiple for tae

-most of them are only used in private


-surprisingly kook is more open

-he likes holding tae’s hand in public

-and also kissing tae with everyone watching

-just so people know that he’s the one who can do that

-tae is pretty shy with showing affection when there’s people watching

-but he still occasionally likes to peck jungkook’s cheek at school

First time:

-happened two months after they started dating

-kook had tried to control himself until he was sure that tae was ready

-because even though he wanted to fuck tae’s brains out, he wanted more than just a fuck buddy

-so he was willing to wait

-that is until he saw tae come out of the shower with the towel around his waist hanging dangerously low, water dripping down his naked chest

-kook was tae’s first

-so he tried his best to be gentle

-still, he didn’t feel sorry at all when the younger boy winced everytime he sat down for the next couple of days

The second time and all the times after that:

-kook knows how to hit all the right spots

-and tae is extremely vocal

-which btw drives jungkook crazy

-so lots of rough sex

-(because kook always tries to get more beautiful noises out of taehyung)

-usually initiated by kook

-kook likes to tease tae in public with subtle touches and whispered words

-tae finds out that getting fucked against the wall is amazing

-they have lots of sex because u know, they’re horny teenagers and all

-kook has more kinks

-he likes it when tae leaves scratches all over his body

-tae doesn’t like visible marks that can’t be covered up

-but if they can be covered than yes please more

-kook likes seeing tae’s face when he comes undone underneath him

-soooo many round two’s

Jungkook being possessive/protective:

-he glares at people who talk to tae for too long

-he’s always by tae’s side with his hand around the younger’s waist

-if someone only accidentally bumps into tae, kook gets really mad

-tae always tells him to calm down

-but pretty often kook gets a little violent when defending his precious boyfriend

-everytime he does, tae walks away and refuses to talk to him for the rest of the day

-he won’t even let kook touch him

-kook always gets super worried if tae gets even a minor injury

-“kookie, i’m fine, i just sprained my ankle, i can walk by myself”

-“well yesterday you didn´t mind being carried by me”


(I’ll write more some other time)

lunarjihoon  asked:

how about 57 + jihoon/ woozi? i hope you don't mind, thank you.

 woozi, ‘is that my shirt’, i dont like cute stuff unless its about my soft child

the classical music which you somehow have on your (jihoon’s) spotify is somewhat addicting. usually the best place to listen too it is when you’re struggling to work or you need to concentrate whilst reading and there’s people around who really don’t know how to mute themselves. 

 getting lost in the violins is a great pass time, especially at night. you find yourself laid across the middle of the bed with a towel covering your hair and earbuds in to block out the rest of the world as you carry on reading the book that had been recommended to you as being something you have to read!

 so as you force yourself to go through another chapter whilst waiting for your boyfriend to come home, the world around you begins to get lost from your senses. you don’t even keep track of the time until there’s a chime of the clock on your wall to tell you that an hour has passed since you laid down and forgot about everything. 

 oh, and then there’s your boyfriend himself standing opposite the bed, staring at you like you’re the art from van gogh himself all the while still saying nothing to you. 

 you offer him the exact same silent treatment as he offered you, pulling out one earbud and keeping your eyes on his as he continues to scrutinize you silently from across the room. 

 ‘is that my shirt?’ he asks. 

 ‘good evening to you too!’ you say rather sarcastically, dropping you book to the side and sitting up every so slightly to become somewhat level with him. ‘why does it matter what i’m wearing?’

 jihoon narrows his eyes at your slight outburst and frowns. ‘i’m just asking if you’re wearing my shirt.’

 ‘well… yeah it is, but what’s the problem?’ you ask. his stare makes you a little more self concious than you were sure he planned to and you make the most of what you can to pull the bottom of his shirt - that you’d shamelessly stolen from his wardrobe when you got out of the shower - further down your legs.

 ‘there’s not a problem,’ jihoon tells you. he breaks his emotionless stance and smiles widely at you, taking a few steps towards the bed until he’s right next to it, then he takes a seat on the covers and chuckles a little and lets his head fall towards the ground. ‘you’re really cute, you know that?’

 you pout, still struggling to cover up as much of your body as you wanted to with his shirt. ‘i’m not cute. i just needed clothes to wear.’

 ‘still cute though,’ jihoon tells you. he takes his time to move forward on the bed and plants one of his signiture i’m really tired but what to show you affection kisses onto the side of your cheek, just missing your lips. 

 ‘how can i trust you on what you think is cute when you can’t even greet me in the evening?’ you ask, raising an eyebrow at jihoon. ‘i missed you and then you almost give me a heart attack because you’re just standing there staring at me? do you know no boundaries?’

 jihoon copies your expression almost exactly. ‘i was surprised by you looking so cute in my shirt. can’t i show adoration to the person i love by staring at them in awe of their perfection that’s reflected from their clothing choice?’

 ‘i just needed to find some clothes, let me live,’ you mumble, laying back down on the bed in frustration for the complete over-reaction from your boyfriend. it was a great summary of your relationship; improve 24/7.

 ‘and you wore mine, that’s cute,’ he assures you again, reaching forward and tapping the tip of your nose. ‘now you know what its like when you call me cute. we’re both cute now, face it.’

for @hpminorcharnet​’s non-canon relationships creation event

oliver goes travelling with his quidditch team as part of the world cup, marcus has a keen interest in literature; snippets of his daily unsent letters to oliver while he’s away

1.       it’s only been a few hours since you left but it’s as if the moment your presence exited the house the rain began to fall. the heavy droplets have already overflown the owl bath – i think the little brown owl who brings our edition of the daily prophet is so soaked he can’t fly back home; i might go and bring him inside so he has a place to rest but i don’t have the energy to do anything right now. when you left you took all my inspiration with you, i don’t have much of a purpose. motionless, emotionless; i have nothing, really.

2.       the empty side of your bed reaffirmed the emptiness in my heart last night. i wish i was overreacting when i say i feel as though i’m missing half of my soul. damn you for being so wonderful that you’ve absorbed half of my consciousness. and damn your job for taking you so far away from me; i know this will be the start of something wonderful for you, but i can’t sleep without the dip in the bed beside me. part of me wants the team to win because it’s you, but part of me wants you to crumble at the first hurdle so you can come back.

Keep reading

Please Don't Go (Oikawa Tooru x Reader)

Anon asked: Hello!!!! Angst anon here!!! I’m so happy you love writing angst bc I love reading them!!! Can I have one for Oikawa??? Maybe his s/o is worried about him bc he’s overworking himself and he snaps? And scares his s/o into a very submissive phase?

I hope I did alright? I felt like I could’ve made it more dramatic, but then I could get carried away and make it over the top???? Anyway, I hope I satisfied your angst needs. If not, there’s more angst requests!
He wasn’t returning your phone calls. He wasn’t answering your texts. He even went so far as to avoid you during school. This streak has been going on for three days and frankly, you patience was starting to wear thin. Volleyball practice was just ending for the day and you watched as all the members started to stream from the gymnasium doors. Well, almost all of them. Your eyes caught Iwazumi’s and you strode over to where he stood. You already knew what he was going to tell you. But you asked anyway.

“Is he still in there?”

Iwazumi sighed and a look of concern crossed his features. “He’s not going to leave until he feels like he’s honed his skills to perfection which isn’t going to be for a while. I know you care about him but,” he glanced behind him to make sure Oikawa had miraculously appeared behind him. “It’s wouldn’t be wise to try and convince him to stop. He tends to be harsher when he’s in this mode.”

A feeling of weariness washed over you as you realized he probably hasn’t been taking care of himself properly.

“I understand, but I’m not leaving without him. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow.” You waved him goodbye and started towards the club room entrance.

You peeked in and weren’t surprised to see dozens of volleyballs littered around the lone captain. The look of Oikawa’s face was that of sheer determination. You were guessing he was practicing his serves once more. He would have looked normal except for the dark rings around his eyes. He wasn’t sleeping nor was he probably eating. Deciding the best choice of action was to obtain dinner, you left hurriedly. By the time you made it back with two bento boxes, it was nearing seven and Oikawa was still in the gym. Silently, you crept inside towards the bleachers and placed the food down, careful not to disturb the setter. You didn’t want to eat without him so you waited for the sound of balls pounding the walls to cease. When you found an opening, you took the opportunity.

“Tooru, I brought you dinner. Maybe you could take a break?” You called out, but his back still faced you.

“I know you have a big game coming up, but maybe you could take a break?” You suggested, rising to your feet when he refused to answer.

You walked closer, reaching a hand to touch his shoulder. “Tooru please-”

“Don’t touch me!” He snapped causing you to falter in your steps.

“You know, I would think that you could take a hint. If I don’t answer your calls or texts it means I don’t want to talk. I have a tournament coming up within days and I don’t need any distractions. Especially from you!” He yelled, his voice carrying an icy undertone to it.

You were frozen in place. He never yelled at you before. Not like that. It scared you. He had spoken as if you were just another obstacle in his life. The thought alone killed you inside. You were shaking as you moved back, rushing to collect your belongings before he could see you cry.

“Y-you’re right. I didn’t mean to bother you. Goodbye.” She whispered quietly in hopes of not angering him. The only sounds were that of your retreating footsteps and a slamming door.


Thursday was not very pleasant. Unfortunately, you were stuck on the same room with Oikawa for most of the day, only escaping for lunch. You were more quiet than usual and when questioned, you simply shrugged it off. In reality you were hurt by your boyfriend’s words and replayed them in your mind constantly. But you didn’t want to voice your thoughts for fear of angering him.

The bell rang and everyone rushed to leave the school until it was just you and Oikawa left. Your silence apparently had the opposite effect of what you wanted.

“What’s with you today?”

You didn’t move to meet his gaze, instead looking down at your hands. “It’s nothing, I’m just tired.”

You quietly packed your bag up and moved out of his way, wanting to get away from his piercing stare.

Despite last night’s events, you waited for Oikawa after practice despite Iwazumi’s protests. He was still your boyfriend and you still wanted to make sure he was okay. Even if you were afraid of him.

You didn’t even step a foot into the gym before Oikawa snapped at you.

“Just leave. I really don’t feel like dealing with you today.” He growled sardonically.

“I won’t bother you. I just want to make sure you’re okay.” You whispered quietly.

This only served to infuriate him even more.

“I am fine! And I would be even better if you’d just leave!” His voice has risen volumes and your eyes widened even more than they were.

This time you couldn’t stop the tears that pricked the corners of your eyes. All the emotional frustration that was pent up finally released itself in the form of salty tears. You couldn’t seem to stop them and you didn’t care. All you wanted was to go home. You didn’t offer a response, opting to leave silently instead.


Friday, thankfully was a student holiday which meant there wasn’t school. You could be at peace alone. The universe seemed to have other plans for you. The doorbell rang twice followed by insistent knocking. You would have ignored it, but it we becoming to distracting to do so. Throwing open the door it revealed the last person you wanted to see.

“Can I help you?” You greeted him with the same quietness that seemed to irk him.

“I need to talk to you…” He muttered, stepping into your house when you moved aside.

You walked towards the kitchen, quietly asking if wanted tea. You may have been scared of him, but you were not a bad host.

“I came here because I needed to apologise. My behaviour the past few days was uncalled for. Especially to you.” He said reaching a hand out to touch you, but you nervously recoiled.

He was a bit surprised and wasn’t sure how to respond. “W-why did you flinch?”

You just shook your head and looked away.

“Please tell me what’s wrong…” His voice strained against itself.

“Tooru, I-all I tried to do was make sure you were okay. I don’t want to see you overwork yourself and when you yelled at me, that scared me. You’ve never yelled at me like that before.” You admitted, this time your eyes met his.

He moved closer to you and pulled you into an embrace. You felt the sensation of something warm hitting your neck. Gazing up, you realised he was crying.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. Tournaments always stress me out, but I know that’s no excuse to treat you the way I did. I don’t want you to leave me.” He sobbed into your neck, desperately holding onto to you as if you’d flee at any moment.

You contemplated s moment before you slowly wrapped you arms around him.

“I’m not leaving you Tooru. But you have to promise me that you’re not going do that again.” You reassured him, listening to his countless apologies.

“I won’t. I promise I won’t.”

Oikawa was a man of his word.