silent gesture

  • being friends with a gryffindor is: never having to worry about not having someone to fight for you; knowing that you are arms length away from receiving the warmest hug you have ever had, like hot apple cider or hot chocolate; pillow fights at 1AM because why not? it's not like sleep could ever give you this feeling of joy; it's sitting next to a roaring fire painting nails, or trying to braid hair [and failing miserably]; it's watching the sunset together, and trying so desperately to memorize how the colors from the sky are making their face glow; it's standing up for them, even if they screwed up - because they're your friend, and what they did isn't worth giving up those uncontrollable giggles late at night; it's teaching each other how to grow up, and be mature, and learn from your mistakes; it's often going out of your comfort zone to do things that you might regret later, but you know will be worth it in the end; it's trying new recipes together and almost coughing it back up because you seriously needed to have had a recipe; it's always being there for each other when it counts.
  • being friends with a ravenclaw is: turning around in your seat during class, to look at them and roll your eyes simultaneously; coming up with new conspiracy theories about your favorite tv show; writing messages on each other's jeans and hands/arms, and getting in trouble with the teachers for not paying attention; it's not being afraid to tell them that they need to go back upstairs and change their outfit; it's not being afraid to give them the facts, and show them how it correlates with their circumstance; it's watching the stars together, and having a contest about who can spot the most constellations, before you both decide 'screw it,' and make up your own constellations - each with their own history and characterization; it's trying out new things together, whether it's completely foreign to the both of you, or just one of you - to please the other person and to gain their perspective; it's reading to each other late at night, while the other plays with your hair; it's always going above and beyond to keep your friendship alive.
  • being friends with a slytherin is: silent gestures and small smiles during the day, to let the other know you care about them; it's like finding a four-leafed clover - once you find it, you never let it go; it's throwing rocks in water and watching the ripples as they calm you; it's not being afraid to point out the bad qualities in each other, as well as the good, and have conversations about them; it's doing each others makeup and laughing so much that your eyeliner is all over the place, and you can forget about mascara; it's seeing who can sculpt the weirdest animal [with a backstory, please and thank you - along with its diet and habitat]; it's staying on the internet until dawn, and barely speaking, but giggling as you send each other memes; it's jumping on the bed to your favorite music while singing in a hairbrush; it's texting each other in near-tears, spilling your heart out, while the other listens and comforts you, and tells you all the reasons why you'll get through it, and how you don't need the person who is the source of your hurt; it's constantly picking each other up after someone's knocked you down; it's knowing that you have someone you can be completely bare-faced with, and know that they'll either cut all ties with you, or know that you have someone to love you for life.
  • being friends with a hufflepuff is: late-night talks about nothing and everything; sending each other baby hedgehog videos; hand-holding; seeing who can eat the most in one sitting [and then comforting each other the rest of the day, because oh my god who would even eat fifteen pieces of toast in their right mind]; sketching each other [and failing miserably]; lighting dozens of candles and laying down on the couch side-by-side, whilst your favorite instrumental record plays in the background; not being afraid of tear-stained clothes; sometimes having to pull all-nighters working through problems with each other, due to too much blatant and tactless honesty; always smiling at each other while you pass in the halls; always lending an ear when needed, even if you can't give advice; squealing at seeing their selfies, because oh my god, I am friends with the cutest little bean in the universe; making road-trip plans for the future; tripping over air while going on hikes together; drying flowers together; knowing that although they might have their head in the clouds, they will always come back down to earth just for you.

anonymous asked:

what's your fav non-Larry moment?

Hello anon, this is my favorite kind of anon question, and I kinda want to talk about this forever. Let me tell you about how the boys take care of each other, and specifically, about how they take care of Niall. Because Niall is a precious snow flake who deserves only good things in life.

This moment is from the Take Me Home Tour, Aug 9, 2013 at the Staples Center, Los Angeles. The boys are singing Little Things. [x]

Right from the outset, Niall looks overwhelmed and out of it. I don’t know why, I don’t know what upset him, but he just. isn’t. coping. It is clear.

Look at his face when Liam starts singing. This isn’t Niall during Little Things. Niall is usually engaged, cheered because the crowd always sings back, and he is normally strumming along on his guitar like a little boy on Christmas morning.

Not this time though.

The others notice, because of course they do. We forget sometimes, how intimately the boys know each other, how much time they spend in each other’s company. So of course they figure it out.

Harry realizes, and you can tell, because he sings his entire first line with Louis while staring at Niall.

He doesn’t even try to hide it, and in the video, you see Liam catch on by looking at Harry, who is looking at Niall.

Harry gestures at Liam with his eyes to look at Niall, and then leans forward to try and see Niall’s face, presumably to check if he is crying.

When we get to Niall’s part, very clearly, Liam is gesturing to Harry in a “what’s going on” helpless shrug.

My heart breaks when Niall starts singing. His voice cracks on “you will never love yourself half as much as…”

Harry turns around fast enough to give himself whiplash the moment he hears that crack in Niall’s voice, concerned. Caretaker! Styles is in full fledged mode Harry and Liam gesture more to each other, with Harry mouthing “make sure he’s okay”. 

Apparently, this is all Liam can take. Because he starts to climb down to come closer. He gives him a moment though, he waits to see if Niall can get himself together without help. He doesn’t want to embarrass him in front of the crowd, so he waits, even though he wants to reach out and *hug him so bad*

Niall sounds upset again, and Liam sits by his side. First, he just smiles at him, leans in closer and harmonizes with him.

When that doesn’t seem to help, when Niall looks like he is about to crack, Liam puts his arm around his shoulders and pulls him in. A silent, comforting gesture, of friendship and brotherhood, saying “I am here if you want to fall apart. I will sing your harmonies for you.”

Finally, it gets a smile out of our boy.

When Harry starts singing again to finish the song, Liam tickles Niall’s ear and presses his lips together in a kiss.

And even when Liam climbs back up, he leans down to whisper something funny in his ear, making Niall laugh out loud, interrupting the final chorus.

When they finish, Niall is laughing, smiling wide, and Liam goes back to his perch, like a man who accomplished a dear mission.

Even though we don’t see it, I am sure Harry, Zayn and Louis from across the stage are smiling as well, happy that Liam could take care of their boy.

You know anon, we forget, admist all the drama that surrounds the boys every day, all the good and bad press, the poor management, everything - we forget that One Direction, at its core, is just five boys who love each other and stand by each other through the craziness that is their lives.

It helps to remember every now and then.

Humans are weird-Tactical

okay so:

You know the trope by now, alien race A is peaceful, alien race B threatens them, and they ask the humans for help.

So early on a group of hostile aliens have holed up inside the backroom of a ship, and fortunately, they have no hostages. Time to send in the human tactical team.

4 of the humans line up on the door, nodding at each other, and silently gesturing. The aliens watch from a distance, there are 6 hostiles in that ship, surely this isn’t going to end well.

Their thought process is cut-off when the lead human yells “FLASH OUT!” and tosses an unknown device in through the hatch, quickly pressing his shoulder against it to close it.

A dull *pop* is heard, followed by six screams of pain.

The humans rush in a second after, as graceful as dancers, and rather quickly, (and surprisingly without any weapons fire) signal that the ship is clear.

as it turns out, this species of aliens eyes were adapted to low light environments like those present in space, and as such, the flash grenade was MORE than enough to incapacitate everyone in the room, their ocular nerves well and truly singed by now.

“What a fearsome weapon, truly a magnificent display” remarks the alien liason to the squad.

“oh, this? no this is just a stunner, before we run in and engage the targets.” The human marine says with a steady posture and a confident stare.

“wait, so you are saying you were planning on shooting them after THIS?”

“correct as usual, sir.”

This human squad was going to work just fine for their purposes, and, he prayed, he would never have to face them in combat.

standrew is such a??? soft???? ship??? like it’s rainy days spent cuddling and sleeping in?? hot cocoa for cold hands and fuzzy socks for cold feet and kisses to the nose or under the jaw or falling asleep nestled in a nest of blankets while snow falls quietly outside the window?? and like pet-names and feeding each other sweets and making each other dinner and kissing each other at random times of the day simply because kissing is nice and feeling loved is nice and feeling warm & safe is really really nice?????

in contrast to that, shyan is such a ride or die ship?? like i’d follow you to the end of the world with mild complaining?? like i’d make you laugh until you want to cry and i’ll bicker with you until we’re both too tired to do anything but cuddle on the couch and i’d call you all kinds of names because teasing you is how i let you know i love you?? it’s strong coffee in the morning, mild beer in the evening, watching netflix, tracing figures on the cloth of the other’s chest, competing to see how many kisses you could plant on each other until it becomes a full blown make out session????

and in contrast to both of that zagene is just so… quiet??? it’s quickly making eye contact at random intervals of the day because suddenly you just remembered that, oh right– i love you?? it’s hand holding under the table during a meeting, or those childish, but still so meaningful declarations of “if i only had to save one during the apocalypse, i’d save you”???? it’s little things like candy on a keyboard or a muffin on a particularly breakfast-less day??? it’s thoughtful nagging and silent fussing and gentle gestures that make up for the almost shy, non-existent quiet words of affection.

4

“We’ve always made a conscious decision to have Lukas express his emotions through silent gestures, be it through giving Philip a Polaroid camera, walking out on a motorcross sponsorship and giving Helen the gun, or finally by kissing Philip openly in front of people who know them. That says ‘I love you’ louder than any words ever could.” 

friendship goals // stiles stilinski

Summary: Having only ever been acquaintances, Stiles & Y/N find out what benefits come along with being friends

Requested: no, collab with @sincerelystiles

Pairing: Stiles & Y/N

Warning: yes, mature language & smut throughout

Masterlist

“Why does Scott insist that playing hide and seek in the middle of the pitch black woods is going to bring us closer together as a pack?” Y/N sighed, annoyed as she pulled her thin jacket closer around her shoulders.

“Quite complaining.” Stiles shushed her, bringing a finger to his lips. “You’re only upset because you’re stuck with me.” He smirked.

They had never been anything more than acquaintances. She was friends with Lydia, automatically making her friends with Scott and in turn, Stiles.

“It could’ve been worse.” He offered his hand to her, helping her over the large tree trunk that had fallen over blocking their path. “You could have been stuck with Liam.” She smiled as she reached for his hands. 

Keep reading

Do you think Derek ever remembers the Stiles that he first met, the loud mouthed, cheerful, quirky, smirking, always moving, always curious Stiles, basically the definition of ALIVE, and he knows Stiles has been through a lot even before that but it never crushed his spirit completely.

Do you think he looks at the Stiles after the nogitsune and everything else he’s had to go through, seeing right in front of him how much quieter Stiles is, how he might flinch at surprise noises or contact, how he doesn’t strive to know everything about anything anymore, how he keeps his head low and approaches things in a more calculating way, a tired way, rather than wholeheartedly.

Do you think he sees the tight lipped smile and the dark eyes and thinks to himself how he should have been more present, how he should’ve been able to do something, ANYTHING, to stop this from happening. Because it happened to himself, he should know how it goes by now, he should’ve seen the signs, he should’ve dared to believe the nagging voice in the back of his head and should’ve stepped forward when he saw that no one else would. But no, he had let himself believe in his self-pity, that Stiles, someone so great could never fall, that he could never experience something like Derek because he was too strong and too precious and too amazing, that he could never need someone like Derek when he has so many people around him.

Do you think he blames himself for not realizing sooner that they are both just people, that he is not some monster who attracts and deserves all the worst for just existing, that what happened to him could happen to anyone, and that Stiles is not an actual angel, who is immune to everything (even if he was Derek’s guardian angel).

Do you think Derek’s heart breaks over and over again every time Stiles half heartedly jokes that they’re all just broken now and that Derek isn’t alone.

Do you think he sees the plea in Stiles’ eyes that he doesn’t dare speak, the way Stiles had seen it in his before he had even known what he wanted, a touch, a hug, unconditional trust, but that he doesn’t know what to do because he still doesn’t trust himself, and all he wants to do is fall to his knees and tell Stiles he’s sorry for letting things go this way, and he knows that it’s pathetic and he’s just being his self-deprecating self again, and that it’s not helping anyone - it never has - but he doesn’t know what to do, all he knows is what Stiles had done for him and he knows he can’t be as great as Stiles, he can’t.

Do you think he tries anyway because he would give his heart and his soul, or what’s left of it anyway (sometimes he doesn’t believe there’s anything left at all but considering he’s alive, and considering the way something beats hard in his chest when Stiles’ eyes meet his there must be SOMETHING there) no matter how small and shattered- he’d give it all for Stiles. And he can’t rewind time and he can’t fix him, and Stiles deserves so much more than his shattered pieces, and one day surely, Stiles will find someone better, someone who serves as a cooling balsam to the pain within, and that thought makes his throat close up and his chest burn and it almost makes him turn away from Stiles because he’s been taught in the past not to give anything if there’s a risk he’ll get burnt- but he does it anyway, because this is Stiles and if he’s not getting what he needs from anyone else, if by chance he’s not letting anyone else in for the moment, if Derek knows where the cracks are and how to warm them, then he’ll be there. And he might not be enough but at least he’s something and maybe, just maybe he can serve some kind of purpose, whichever it may be, to preserve that last part of Stiles that’s hidden behind the cold exterior, maybe he’ll be just enough to help Stiles survive until his life pieces itself back together again and Stiles is back on his own two feet.

Do you think he takes Stiles’ hand, silently because he was never good with words, and because he remembers that most of the time Stiles had comforted him by touch alone, small gestures, rather than his wide vocabulary of words, and that he’s surprised when Stiles isn’t.

Do you think that the tears that form in Stiles’ eyes at the contact take all of the sorrys from Derek’s lips because he loses his breath when Stiles gives his hand a gentle squeeze and sniffles, smiling ever so slightly, not strong enough for an honest full fledged smile, because it would be a lie if he did, but this one is real and it’s the most beautiful thing Derek has ever seen because it means he was right, Stiles is still in there and he might know the one or other thing about getting him out.

Do you think they’re still overly careful around each other and about digging too deep, they’re cautious to protect each other, and they might seem to bicker and argue harshly on the outside about trivial things, but when it comes to words with depth they’re both quiet and calm, and Derek sticks to his silent gestures until they start losing their power.

Do you think the time he sets a hand on Stiles’ back and Stiles pulls away, fear makes his chest tight that he’s reached his limit and he’s not enough anymore, that he’s got nothing more left to give and that this is the point where he has to let Stiles go to find someone better, someone worthy, who will put that real, honest, full fledged, ear to ear grin on Stiles’ face in the most vulnerable of moments.

Do you think Derek remembers that time, where Stiles broke through all his walls and looked straight into his soul with just one word, a seemingly irrelevant word in an irrelevant conversation that had nothing to do with either of them, really, except for fighting off a threat with a paralyzing tail.

Do you think he remembers how Stiles gave everything back then, prior to that word, he used all the energy he had left in him to keep both their heads over water and that he would’ve died to try and save them both, and Derek had found a way to dismiss it, thinking Stiles is the kind of person who would sacrifice himself for anyone, kind of like himself except that Derek did it because he thought he deserves to die much more than anyone else and Stiles probably did it because he thinks no one deserves to die unless they’re trying to kill someone else.

Do you think he takes a step forward to chase the step Stiles took away and tells him simply “you’re not alone”, and it’s three words to Stiles’ one but it’s the best he’s got and he always knew his best is not even close to Stiles’, and he knows he’s got to try everything, give it everything he’s left in him all the way to the end, because Stiles’ would do the same for him if he let him, and he has to take the chance just in case Stiles lets him to the same.

Do you think Derek keeps on talking, thinking about the way he likes hearing Stiles’ voice when he’s down, and talking might not come easy to him but it gets easier when he sees Stiles is listening and his shoulders slump as if he’s finally letting some of the weight of his walls fall.

Do you think Derek envelopes Stiles tightly, not trying to prevent it when he breaks and starts sobbing into his chest, but holding him together so that he doesn’t feel shattered and scattered all over the place when the tears slowly cease, and it hurts, seeing Stiles like this, hearing the sobs that wrenched from him, and maybe it’s such a punch to the gut that Derek tears up himself, but this time he has to be there for Stiles so he keeps talking, making sure Stiles has something to focus on beside the sounds of his sobs.

Do you think that maybe when they both quiet down, exhausted, and Derek sees how reluctant Stiles is to leave his side just for a shower, even if he can’t look Derek in the eyes at the moment, and how they somehow drift back to each other when they lie down, how Stiles grasps onto his shirt tightly when Derek brings his arms back around him, that maybe Derek starts to think maybe there was a reason they kept getting pulled back to each other, maybe there’s a reason they can see past each other’s defenses and see more in each other than either would ever dare to admit, maybe, just maybe, he can be enough for Stiles, the way a scrawny, pale but dotted with moles, sarcastic 147 pounds of skin and bones teenager simply believing in him was enough or him years ago.

just reading the life of alexander before bed as you do and 

Upon which, as they were leading him away as wholly useless and untractable, Alexander, who stood by, said, “What an excellent horse do they lose for want of address and boldness to manage him!” Philip at first took no notice of what he said; but when he heard him repeat the same thing several times, and saw he was much vexed to see the horse sent away,

alexander: that’s a real nice horse isn’t it hephaistion [examines nails] guess none of these losers can handle him [flicks imaginary lint off tunic] what a shame

philip: [pretends to be super interested in flight of passing birds]

alexander: i SAID, that’s a REAL NICE HORSE [hephaistion is staring unblinkingly at philip while nodding emphatically] what a SHAME none of these LOSERS can HANDLE HIM, DAD [hephaistion: that’s a real shame alexander]

philip:  [silent eyeroll, j/o gesture directed to nearby cavalrymen. they all laugh, alexander doesn’t notice]

alexander: i SAID, that’s a  R E A L   N I C E  H O R S E -

philip: jesus christ

Whipped…boyfriend!!! (PT4)




Y/N likes to think everything had gone back to normal after that dreadful morning. Harry hasn’t touched the subject, and he seems to be doing fine. She likes to think everything is okay, maybe he was just having an unpleasant day and there’s no point at even asking about it and upsetting him all over again. But she can’t erase the image of his body racking with sobs, eyes pleading and repentant. 

She wants to be able to get past it, but her mind keeps going back to how she’d cried silently while he was in the shower. How every minute that passed, sat alone on his couch, all she could think about was that there was a possibility that when Harry came out, he would tell her that he couldn’t anymore. He’d break her heart with words of ‘still wanna be your friend. We can still be best friends, like we were b'fo’.’ But it wouldn’t be like before.

She wants her mind to forget his gasps of ’m'sorry, love. M'so so sorry.’ But it’s like they’re forever etched into her brain. And every time she looks at his sleeping body next to her in the morning, it’s all she hears, those words.

So no, everything is back to normal in terms of appearances, but she’s been having an inner battle with herself that hasn’t let her sleep at night.

It’s been about two months or so since Harry’s breakdown. They’ve kept to their daily routine; breakfast, work, the occasional surprise lunches, and dinner among other things; but they don’t talk about it. And it’s like when she tries, Harry diverts the conversation to how thrilled he is to start Dunkirk promo, and of course Y/N can’t press the subject when Harry’s got a wide smile on his face, happy to recount and retell moments on set.

And though she still couldn’t forget about it, she’d enjoyed breaking routine, especially for the beautiful scenery that was a wedding in Hawaii. Harry had been a ray of sunshine. He had introduced Y/N to the few amounts of people that hadn’t met her yet. Some of them were interested enough to ask how Harry, a lad who didn’t often engage in proper relationships, had managed to pull such a beautiful lass. Y/N admits she’d gone a light shade of red at the comment, never one to confidently accept compliments, and Harry just wouldn’t shut up about her after that. Not until Y/N playfully slapped his arm after he’d brought up how she’d made him think she was going out with some other bloke, blatantly lying to him to his face.

He’d played about with a sweet little girl who’d taken a liking to him, boop'ing her nose and faking having tripped over something when she was chasing him, letting her tag him only for her to end up trapped in his arms. And she loved seeing him so content.

She loved the short stories everyone had to tell about a too drunk Harry who cuddled anyone from a friend, to a plant he thought was a friend. 

She can’t deny that she’d loved that he was showing her off too. Especially when his friends would make a comment about how whipped he was, which only made him smile wider as he kissed her hand (and she’d squirmed and giggled because his stubble did tickle some). 

It’s safe to say that by the end of that trip, everyone and anyone who’d watched Harry mindlessly kiss Y/N’s temple, arm slung around her shoulder whilst talking with his friends, were convinced they were it for each other. 

She had never really attended a wedding with him before either. And she realised that there was something about getting to see him in that setting that had her wanting exactly that for them one day.

So one can only imagine Y/N’s excitement when Pixie’s invitation arrived. She’d jumped at the idea of going to Spain, and being Y/N, Harry couldn’t deny her that. 

And now here they are. Watching the sun set over beautiful waters; rays of orange and yellow and blue adorning the sky. 

It doesn’t take much to convince Harry for a picture. All she really had to is smile at him and he was putty in her hands.

“Say cheese.”

“Wanna look sexy." 

"Harry! Just, show me those pearly whites." 

"Jus’ take the picture, love.” He’s adamant. 

“Harry.” Her tone monotonous, a hand at her hip like it as she glared at him, a smile playing at her lips.

“Wanna look cool, babe.” He chuckles.

She rolls her eyes, huffing jokingly and holding the phone up horizontally.

And though he’s not exactly smiling, Y/N can’t think of a better way it could’ve come out. 

***

Today is nothing short of a fairy tale for Y/N. Her arms around Harry’s necks. And Harry’s hands on her waist, swaying to none other than “Song Bird.” He takes to whispering the lyrics to her ear, and he can feel Y/N’s smile widen when she buries her head in his neck. 

Harry likes to think he’s a good dancer, even though he tries to abstain from any. But with Y/N, it’s different. He’d only halfheartedly tugged his hand back from hers when she’d tried to pull him up and off his seat, smile much too sweet to actually deny her of a slow dance. And although usually he has to have some amount of alcohol in his system to confidently show any of his moves off on the dance floor, Y/N has him spinning her around gracefully.

When the song nears the end, Harry gives her waist a squeeze before pulling away and taking her face in his hands, firmly pressing his lips to hers in hopes he could convey and express every ounce of love he was for her in that small gesture.

“Ye’ look beautiful, pet,” he whispers, lips grazing hers, pouting just the slightest for them to meet in a chaste kiss, “always look beautiful.”

“You’re too much,” she giggles, fingers wrapped around his wrists.

Harry can only press another kiss to her mouth, too drunk on love to care about anyone watching. 

***

Harry and Y/N are sat back at their table now. He’d groped at her hip and plopped her on his lap after the ninth song when Y/N began to complain about her feet hurting from walking around all day in heels. He’d moved her hair to fall over her shoulder and kissed across her back and at the exposed flesh of her neck. They stay like that for a while until he pats the side of her thigh, at which point she moves to her own seat. Silently, he gestures for her to lift her legs, and then grabs her ankles and brings her feet to lay on top of his lap. One by one he unstraps and slips off her heals and proceeds to dig his thumbs into the dip of her foot, alternating between the two. And Y/N can’t help but look at how her boyfriend’s brows furrow in concentration, the tip of his tongue peeking out from the corner of his lips as he works to ease the tension in the muscles. She hums at the touch, Harry smiling in accomplishment, and squeals when he starts tickling. 

“Went from a whipped friend to a whipped boyfriend! S'a step up Harold!” Grimmy pats his friend’s back, a lopsided smirk with a clear intent to insult plastered in his face.

And it’s certainly not helping that he’s helping her strap her heels back on. But again, he doesn’t mind being whipped.

It wasn’t the first time tonite that he’d made the remark either. He’d made it a game actually. The first was while they were conversing with Lou. Grimmy had cheekily strolled past them with a smirk and whisper of ‘whipped’. The second, Y/N was at the fruit bar helping herself to a plate, and Harry kept feeding bits into her mouth as she went about picking what she wanted. He’d offered to take her plate back to the table while she reached for the cutlery, and though Grimmy might have not meant for her to hear it, she still caught the faint ‘whipped’ directed at Harry. The third had been the most embarrassing, at least for her. They had been chatting to an elderly couple, the husband retelling of a vacation he’d surprised his wife with only to find out that cruises weren’t her cup of tea when she wouldn’t come out of their suite bathroom because even though it was smooth sailing, her tummy just couldn’t handle it. At one point Harry had perfunctorily brought up their intertwined hands and pecked at Y/N’s knuckles. Grimmy had, yet again, silently walked up behind them and sing-songed ‘whi-hipped’, at which point Y/N swung her arm around, overestimating her aim, and socked him where she thought would have been his shoulder but was really his neck. Harry had doubled over in laughter at that. Even the wife whose eyes had gone wide couldn’t hold back. After that, Grimmy didn’t bother him any, only playfully shot her a glare when their eyes met.

“Nice t’ see ye’ too, ass.”

Despite his comment, Grimmy leans down to press a kiss to Y/N’s cheek. “I’ll take tha’ as an invitation t'sit down with m'favourite couple." 

"Grimmy’s just jealous he’s got no one to rub their feet." Was it childish that Y/N stuck her tongue out at him? Maybe so, but that’s how their friendship works.

"Oh no sweets. Even if I did m'not touching anyone’s stinky feet.” Dry humour’s always been Grimmy’s specialty.

“Ye’ really are a catch mate,” Harry jabs, taking a swig from his water bottle. 

Grimmy narrows his eyes, “s'tha’ the same outfit ye’ were wearing not even two weeks ago, 'arry?”

“Heyyyy!” Y/N chimes, scolding Grimmy with the sternest face she could pull, “s'my favourite suit of his.”

“Yeh, s'her favourite suit of mine,” Harry mocks. And they all laugh.

After that, any intention Y/N had of staying sober went out the window the second Grimmy came up with the brilliant idea of a game where they’d have to take a shot every time George kissed Pixie. 

You’d think she’d turn it down after the last time she’d gotten sloshed and the fact she’d vowed to take it easy when she did decide to drink. But Grimmy had called her a ninny because ‘s’okay if ye’ can’t handle ye’ liquor, babe.’ And even if she couldn’t, which she thinks they both know he’ll probably end up the winner, she’s certainly not gonna give him the satisfaction of not even trying.

But now, looking back at it, 6 shots in and already feeling it, Y/N really should’ve known better, should’ve thought before hastily agreeing. Of course the bride and the groom are expected to share kisses various times throughout the night at their wedding party. And it was so like Grimmy to demand they kiss every ten minutes, Harry laughing and nodding his head in amusement, or disapproval, Y/N’s not entirely sure at this point.

But she does have to admit she’s having a grand time dancing to “The Time of My Life.” Harry dancing circles around her with his arms up, mouthing along and shoulder shrugging to the beat, an immense smile on his perfect face. She throws her head back in amusement, laughing lively. 

She secretly thanks the heavens that Harry isn’t partaking in any drinking, choosing to stick to water, allowing her to use him as leverage whenever she begins to stumble. 

“Okay, think she’s had enough, Grim,” the comment comes when Grimmy tries to hand Y/N another drink, only for Harry to take it himself and set it at the edge of the round table, away from Y/N who’s got her head on his shoulder and is beginning to fully lean into him from exhaustion. 

“Oh, poo, you’re no fun.” He sticks his tongue out at his sober friend before excusing himself when it’s announced that it’s time for cake.

“Feeling a'right, pet?” His thumb rubs circles on her palm where their hands clasp atop his thigh. 

“Hmm.” Her hooded eyes open a tad slighter when she feels his lips press a kiss to her head before pressing his cheek against her hair. "Yeah. Need to use the bathroom though." 

"C'mon, then.” He takes her hand into his, careful in helping her up, his free hand at the small of her back to steady her.

“M'fine, babe.” She smoothes out the wrinkles on the skirt of her dress and grabs her purse from the table. 

“Ye’ sure? Don’ mind going with ye’." 

"I’ll be fine.” And the giggle emitting from her mouth when she pecks at his exposed chest can’t be any more endearing. He watches her walk past tables of guests, a breath of relief to see she’s good on her feet despite the amount of alcohol she’s consumed.

He sits back down, singlehandedly undoing another button on his shirt as he brings his arm to rest on the back of the chair Y/N was just sitting on. 

And then…

Harry never thought he’d be seeing her face again. It took him a while to control his paranoia, his hyperactive mind conjuring up what he thought to be every possible scenario in which Y/N finds out about what he did. But not this one. 

It catches him completely off guard, his body stiffening at the sight. What throws him off even more is when she spots him and begins making her way to him.

The closer she gets, the farther he wants to get away. 

“Didn’t think I’d be seeing you again.” Her voice sends shivers down his spine. She’s looking at him with…desire? It’s all unappealing if he’s being honest. It feels like she’s trying to lure him in, the way her eyebrow is raised, eyes a bit squinty as she struts closer. He’s making it clear he’s uncomfortable, and if she realizes this, she doesn’t show it, and it doesn’t halt her either.

How was he to know she was a childhood friend of the groom? He’d never seen her at gatherings before that unfaithful night, but in retrospect, he too is guilty of going an endless amount of time without talking to his childhood friends. Harry thinks this is the universe’s way of punishing him for not coming clean. 

His brows furrow in concern. Y/N will be back any second and he’s sure she’ll ask who this woman standing before him is. And it could go one of two ways. 

Harry can introduce her as a friend, but that’d be betraying Y/N on a whole other level. Introducing the woman he slept with to his girlfriend. But he can’t do that. He won’t.

Or. Or what if this woman has the audacity to bring it up. What if Y/N finds out in the worst way possible. 

His hands are sweating in his pockets, body tense. 

“Left so early that morning. Didn’t even stay for breakfast.” The smug look on her face has Harry’s tummy twisting, and he really wants to slap her hand away the second her fingers make contact with the fabric of his suit, fingers running over at the lapel.

And he should stop her right there, but his throat is dry and he’s afraid the second he opens it to add how much of a mistake it was and that he has a girlfriend, is the moment Y/N over hears the conversation.

“You’re a good fuck, you know. Best I’ve ever had." 

He knows she’s trying to get a response out of him, anything that might assure her that he’d had a good time too. 

But he’s not able to get anything out when he notices her stare trail behind him.

"Harry.” Her voice just above a whisper, the sound of heels clicking against the ground growing closer.

No. No no no no. 

Crazy, Stupid, Love

Title: Crazy, Stupid, Love

Summary: When the girl Dean’s been in love with for years returns home from a disastrous date, he takes it upon himself to make her feel better. But things do not go as planned and feelings he’d kept under wraps for years begin to surface. Which is a bad thing. Right?

Author: deanssweetheart23

Characters: Dean Winchester x reader, Cameron (OMC, mentioned)

Word count: 2191

Warnings: Language, a smudge of angst and fluff. So much fluff, guys. 

Author’s Notes: This is my submission for @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog‘s Romcom Fluff Challenge and @hannahindie‘s HanCelebratesWithPawnee challenge. Ladies, thank you so much for granting me an extension and allowing me to combine your two wonderful challenges. I hope this was worth the wait.

Special thank you to my twin @ravengirl94 who’s helped me so much with this. She’s the best. 

My prompts for this were “I’m wildly unhappy, and I’m trying to buy it, and it’s not working” from Crazy, Stupid, Love (I am so in love with that movie btw) and “I’m fine. It’s just that life is pointless, and nothing matters, and I’m always tired.” (Both are included in bold in the text below. Gif’s not mine. )

Without further ado. Enjoy <3


The kitchen was a mess, filled with empty pans, dough-dusted spoons and muffin-stuffed cooling racks while specks of splattered batter and flour painted the surface of the counter in shades of white, the homely image reminding Dean of mornings he used to spend by his mother’s side while she baked his favorite pie or cut the crust off his sandwich.

Tightening his grip around the glass he’d been holding, Dean felt his heart clenching painfully at the memory and waited for the all too familiar feelings of homesickness and grief to wash over him like they always did, but Y/N caught the subtle change in him and reached over to graze his arm with her fingertips, the light pressure enough to ground him back to Earth, back into the moment he got to spend with her.

It was one of the things he loved about her, the way she could read him like an open book, how she accepted him for all he was, taking in mistakes and wounds and scars and giving nothing but smiles and affection in return.

Y/N was warmth and comfort to him and that was partly the reason he’d been glad that he was the one she sought for after that date of hers went terribly wrong. He’d been glad because she trusted him enough to be vulnerable around him, trusted him enough to let him in, let him wipe that look of disappointment off her face with a silly joke and a forehead kiss, and tell her that, God, she deserved so much better than Mr. Ballsy, the guy who thought buying her a drink would land him a one-way ticket to her bed.

Because Y/N did deserve better.

Keep reading

a CP ficlet, as promised

(idea courtesy of @echoing-artemis, who said CAPTIVE PRINCE BACHELOR AU which then turned into UNREAL AU in my head because let’s face it, in any situation like this, laurent will still be full of machinations.)

***

When Damen laces his hands together, the left thumb is on top. Laurent fixes this detail with a look that is, as it were, a warm-up for the look he’s about to direct at Damen’s face. Damen is perched on the edge of the plush, over-quilted, impeccably white satin bedspread, elbows resting on his spread knees. He is crushing some of the red rose petals. Laurent makes a mental note to send a production assistant in here with fresh ones before they film the individual segments after the cocktail party.

Someone knocks at the closed door and says, “Um, I think–”

No,” snarls Laurent, wasting the first and most icily searing few seconds of his expression on the door. Silence follows.

“All right, what is it?” Laurent demands of Damen. “Is it drugs? Do I need to send someone out for some cocaine? Do you have a fucking headache? Has a soft-hearted AD whom I will summarily fire snuck you your phone, and you’ve found out that your cat’s died?”

“No,” Damen says, apparently to all of the above. After a moment he adds, in a tone that Laurent can’t parse, “I don’t have a cat.”

“Then what the fuck is wrong with you? I’ve seen potato salad with more vivacity than you’re showing out there.”

“It’s all so–staged,” Damen says, with distaste.

Laurent manages not to roll his eyes, but the violence with which he wishes he were rolling his eyes causes dull pain to gather behind them like a stormcloud.

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Going grocery shopping with Tom (Tom Holland headcannon)

-Tom pushing the cart around pretending he’s a master spy going in undercover as a suburbanite
-“Who do you think works for KGB?”
-“Me, probably.”
-he looks at you like you’ve just blown his mind
-“Why didn’t I think of that before?”
-“Cause you’re too busy drowning yourself in coco puffs.”
-“not true! I have a perfectly healthy amount of coco puffs!”
-“yeah, okay.” you say, smiling at him and grabbing a large box of said cereal and some Milo
-he notices your silent gesture and wraps an around your waist
-“have I mentioned how much I love you?”, he whispers into your ear
-you turn your head around just a little bit so that you can press a kiss to the corner of his mouth
-you smile when he pouts
-“You haven’t today, darling.”
-bopping his nose, you take the cart from his hands
-“Tommy, are you coming?”
-“you didn’t kiss me properly.”
-rolling your eyes, you grab his hand and pull him back beside you
-“we’ve still got a ton of other stuff to get. Not all of us can afford assistants, you know?”
-you tease and he frowns
-Tom trails along, looking at things and asking if you could get them
-“If it’s not on the list, it’s not going in the cart.”
-“You’re no fun.”
-a smile tugs on the corner of your lips as you lean in to say
-“That’s not what you said last night.”
-he blushes just a little bit and then tries to redeem himself
-but you give his butt a little squeeze and then walk off
-“Come on! We don’t have all day, Tommy.”

Post Suit Cuddling

Originally posted by sincerelysaraahh

@mavelfanatic asked:

Can you do a post suit cuddle session with Steve Rogers?? Thank you.

MASTERLIST

REQUESTS

Characters: Steve x reader

Summary: Steve comes home from a mission tired as anything, and you take the task of making him relaxed and comfortable before bed into your own hands.

Warnings: fluffy as heck, probably bad editting yikes

Words: 1335

A/N: GIIIIRRRRRLL this request made me melt to think about. It’s more about Stevie coming home and the reader getting him ready for bed than cuddling, but there’s still cuddling in it!!!! It’s filled with fluff too, I hope that’s okay!


You reread the sentence of your book for the nth time, trying to calm yourself down. Steve was due home from a mission tonight, and it had long since passed his ETA. This wasn’t unusual, sometimes it wasn’t possible for Steve to be completely accurate, but it still put your stomach in knots every time without fail.

You nearly fell out of bed when you heard the familiar sound of keys jingling and the creak of the hinges of your front door swinging open. 

You were down the stairs in a flash, your eyes landing on the man you’d missed dreadfully.

Still in his suit, his hair an utter mess from the helmet he’d pulled off, Steve dropped his shield to the floor with a clunk. Having no noticed you yet, he let out a groan and rubbed his temples from the noise, silently cursing the headache he felt. You frowned, he was typically tired, but this was a level above what you were used to.

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supportive shance.

when shiro has nightmares or panic attacks, lance is always there for him, offering to talk about it and asking if it’s okay to touch him before moving on to physical comfort. whatever makes shiro comfortable. and sometimes he’ll just ramble about old garrison or family stories or something one of the other paladins said to fill the silence so shiro won’t have to feel alone with his thoughts. 

when shiro gets insecure about his arm and his position as team leader, lance is there with every compliment possible for shiro, validating his existence and telling him how important and appreciated he is. he’ll put both hands on shiro’s face and say, “i love you, you know? all of you.” and then as an afterthought (except this is always planned), “i mean, all of us love you but no one else appreciates the booty like i do.” and sure nothing is completely fixed, but shiro is laughing and that’s all lance could ask for.

when lance’s homesickness gets so bad he loses sleep, shiro can always find him wandering the halls huddled in his “cape blanket” until he settles in on the bridge to watch the stars. shiro joins him and holds his hand, pressing into his side; a constant warmth. on nights like these, lance doesn’t talk. he just squeezes shiro’s hand in a silent gesture of thanks and appreciation for him being there. the next morning, lance kisses shiro’s face over and over again until they’re both laughing and they know they’ll be alright.

they both have their insecurities, but knowing that the other is there, that they can reach out for comfort, makes them stronger. of course they can’t love each other better, but their support is that little something they need to get through the days. 

Big Eyes

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: College!Au / Artist!Au / Fluff 

Rated F for Fluffery fluffety fluff :-)

Word count: 5.9k

Synopsis: There are many things that can make Jungkook’s blood roar and adrenaline pump fast within his veins - he’s known for being a passionate boy, after all. And yet, nothing, not even the feeling of running towards the finish line, or the weight of his camera between his hands, has his heart quiver and tremble like you do.

⤷or: You doodle your way under Jungkook’s skin with ink-colored digits and lovely smiles curved in mischief. 

Author’s note: This is nothing but a very self-indulgent story that somehow turned longer than 10k. This is the first part; be careful: athlete!Jeon, photographer!Jeon and a damn lot of cute shyness are above *wink wonk*

Also, this is dedicated to my girls @dat-town and @yoongihime, for they always try to make me soft for a certain bun.


Part 1 


One - Mid Autumn

Everything, oddly as it may indeed sound, starts with a forgotten pen.

Keep reading

Things about 12x16 “Ladies Drink Free” #3

Alright, excuse me for a second, but it’s things like this one that make me love Jensen’s acting so much. It’s not the big and huge dramatic moments or fight scenes or whatever that capture what amazing an actor he is (I mean those do too, but those aren’t the ones that make me go “heart eyes”), it’s the aspects like this one right here, the way Dean is flexing his hand. It tells so much about Dean in this moment, the tension and unease he feels, how short tempered he may be beneath the surface. It is a wonderful visual for Dean’s discomfort and annoyance and we have seen him do that a few times before (I remember talking about it in S9 I think but I can’t find a link now). So yeah, subtlety that’s what I love about Jensen’s acting. The silent moments, the small gestures, the short looks and whatnot, because it’s those things that make Dean Dean.

you’ve met one another, right?

words: 4337.

or the one where everything is still the same: even and isak still do happen. but it’s observed under sana’s watchful inspection. on even.

(or the one where ten times, sana sees even, as even and isak happen.)

canon compliant, but, with a little bit more. this wasn’t meant to turn into a full blown fic but, oh well, no can do.

Keep reading

Alistair Theirin - He would be half asleep and confused, smacking his lips as he tried to get the cotton taste out of his mouth. He’d grow more awake though, eyes snapping open. An awkward chuckle would bubble out of his lips and he’d raise an eye brow. “Can you…Uh…Can you run that by me again? Didn’t quite hear you correctly.” When he’s reminded, though, his face goes a little red. Awkwardly shifting under the covers, he’d scoot to the side. “Uh. Sometimes, some of the younger Templar recruits would. Ya know. Want to…snuggle or whatever. Just um. Pretend to be small.” He understood wanting to feel safe at night, so he’d try not to feel awkward about it. Key word being try.

Alistair Theirin (Romanced) - Alistair wouldn’t even bother with waking up. He’d just grunt, lifting up the blanket so the warden could climb in. When she did, he’d wrap the blanket around her, slinging a leg over her and tugging her close. The warden has dug her own grave. Now she will never escape.

Zevran Arainai - He was a light sleeper. Had to be, really, what with the grisly business he was involved in. He would peer out at the opening of the tent, the knife under his pillow ready to be drawn out in a moments notice. Of course he had no need of it! Because there they were, the Warden. A grin curled onto his lips, eye brow cocking up. “Oh? Visiting me, in my tent, in the dead of night? How scandalous, dear warden. What would dear Wynne say?” Upon hearing their request, he’d hum. “A bit too tame for my liking, but yes yes, come in.” He’d demand to be the big spoon, of course, arms holding the warden to his chest. He’d listen to them breathe, silent, a smile curling on his lips as he closed his own eyes.

Zevran Arainai (Romanced) - Chances are they were both already in the tent to begin with. Zevran would not be ashamed to admit he’d be a wee bit disappointed in the fact that he would not be making love to his warden tonight, but he would have no qualms. He’d press a soft kiss to their neck, still demanding to be the big spoon, a hand sliding up their shirt to gently rest on their stomach, gently stroking their skin. “Goodnight, my Warden.”

Leliana - She, also like Zevran, is a light sleeper. Though not as paranoid, a knife not under her pillow. She blinked sleepily, tilting her head at the Warden at her tent flap. She stayed silent, waiting for them to talk. They seemed troubled, and she hoped the smile on her face put them at ease. Though, at there request, her smile fell, eye lashes fluttering. “Oh? Well, I don’t see any trouble in it. I mean, my tent is small, but yes! Come in.” She smiled, patting the spot next to her. She coaxed them to relax, her arms wrapping around them no matter how large they were. Though, they would be waking up with a foot in their face and an elbow in their ass. 

Leliana (Romanced) - The warden is more than aware of her cuddling habits and have long since learned it is best to have their arms wrapped around her as tight as possible, lest they wake up with a mouth full of hair.

Morrigan - She would be asleep, and less than happy to be waken up. Her piercing yellow eyes would glare at the warden, an eye brow slowly raising as she tapped her thigh. “Yes? Spit it out! As it were, we do not have all night. Time is precious rest.” When she hears there request, she looks shocked. She is the last person one would ask for a…’cuddle’. And yet, here they were, asking her. “What do you take me for? Your mother? Warden, you are not a child, and I am certainly not here to mind one! Tis most disappointing that you…that…you.” Her lips would thin as she stared at their saddened eyes and quivering lip. “Ugh. Fine. But if at any moment in time I want you to leave, you go, or you will have to get your ‘cuddles’ as a toad!” Morrigan is a cuddler. The warden would wake up with her curled up, nuzzled into them, face calm. And if they brought it up at any moment in time it was like asking for death.

Morrigan (Romanced) - Morrigan, despite proving that she was indeed a cuddler, would still be hesitant. Though, waking up, curled up, safe and warm in her wardens arms? Worth it.

Ohgren - “…Bah! Not drunk enough for this.” He’d grumble, grabbing the closest container of ale he could get his hands on. He’d chug it, let it burn his throat, then move on to the next one. After he considered himself suitably inebriated he’d give a vague wave of his arm, allowing the warden in. On that day, the Warden learned that Ohgren truly did smell as bad as the others say, but that he was the warmest out of them all.

Shale - No.

Sten - A double no.

Wynne - She would probably be awake, reading or whispering to herself, eyes far away. Her attention would snap to the flaps of her tent and she’d tilt her head, a warm smile coming to her lips. “Hello? What is wrong?” And then they said what they needed to say. A part of her, long forgotten, abandoned and buried ached when she heard their words. When they both heard their words. Her smile grew worried and she was silent, then she gestured for them to come in. She guided them onto their side, their head on her lap. “Here. Sleep as much as you like.” She said softly, hesitantly petting their hair. She wondered, for a startling moment, if this is what it would be like with…with Rhys. She continued to gently stroke their hair, tears pricking at her eyes.

Dog - The dog is already sitting on your chest. Hope you didn’t enjoy having lungs. Because you don’t have them anymore. You did this to yourself, Warden. I hope your happy.