• ‘Be Like You,’ Imagine #10: You’re Insecure •
//please don’t take the caption from the picture or I’ll cry//
~{requested by anon, thanks love}~

•((Get some crackers cause it’s quite cheesy but I have so many prompts I can’t do much better oops I’m sorry, let me get away with this one))•

+

It’d always been like this, you were just better at concealing it, keeping those little inklings that maybe you  weren’t all of these positive things Ed said you were, every time he told you it was true. Lately though, you’d been falling victim to that whisper in the back of your mind telling you you weren’t  good enough for Ed, though he’d always say that the opposite held true. 

And it was still, even then, standing in front of the full-body mirror in your shared bedroom after a shower, the hum of some football match on the television that Ed was watching downstairs. It had been a particularly long and stressful day, and you were struggling already with keeping yourself in check. He wasn’t there to joke with you about how you should wear nothing all the time, and you could feel the thought forming that  maybe he didn’t mean it. 

It was all too familiar, the sinking feeling as you caught your reflection in the mirror, studying it hard before it all rushed back to you, the problems that Ed had solved all becoming problems again, combined with the fatigue of the day, but you felt wrong interrupting him, asking him to come upstairs to you. 

With a sigh, you just stood transfixed, thinking long and hard about it, so much so that you didn’t even hear him padding upstairs to you, drink in hand. 

"Babe?" He called, knocking on the door before just walking in, because you would rarely tell him to go away, his mouth half-opening to tell you the score to the game when he saw you, looking at the mirror expressionless, the starting of tears forming in your eyes. It was enough. 

He was at your side in a second, wrapping his arms around your middle, lips to your neck, starting to sway you side to side. “No,” he said, simply, there were no big speeches, no eloquence to it through words, but through touch. “No.”

You broke at that point, the first sob racking up your throat as your knees went weak against him, leaning against the warm solidity of his chest. He only secured his arms tighter around you, kissing behind your ear, shuffling his feet under yours. You turned your face to his shoulder, the heat rising to your cheeks in embarrassment, feeling so ridiculous standing there only in your bra and panties, a towel and a very concerned Ed wrapped around you. He hushed you, as you turned to him, feeling him pull the towel gently from around you, so it pooled at your feet, as you breathed him in, trying your best to control yourself, as it had been a very tiresome day. 

He kept his hand on the soft skin of your back until you patterned after his breathing, letting his heartbeat calm you as he swayed you both gently back and forth, until he turned you around so you were both facing the mirror, dropping kisses to your wet shoulder. 

He didn’t say much, he didn’t pour out his heart into some cliché sermon about how you were beautiful and perfect and amazing—though he certainly thought those things. He just held you like he knew you wanted, tracing words on your waist with his fingertips, staring at your reflection until you did the same, finally looking up. 

"You need to come tell me when you’re feeling like this," he chided softly, to your mumble of ‘I didn’t want to interrupt you,’ which he shook his head at. 

"Any time, you hear? Even if I’m on tour, skype me, call me, something. Promise me." You nodded, feeling his words echoing in the spacious bedroom. "I love you," he said, the words vibrating against your neck from his lips, "And you’re okay, we’re okay." And it was enough to let you believe that he was right. 

You nodded, leaning back into him for as long as you needed, his chin tucked over your shoulder, turning his face occasionally to nibble at your ear in a way that had you  breathless. 

Soon enough however, he felt your body start to shake from the cold, having not dried off from the shower, and he laughed before leading you to the bed as you were, drawing the covers up over you before grabbing Nigel from his place at the foot of the bed, tuning him haphazardly. 

"Okay," he began, clearing his throat, setting the worn instrument on his knee, looking over to you, 

"This is—this is really cheesy, fuck," he stuttered, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, cheeks flushing, a breathy laugh that turned into a sigh as he regained himself as you waited for him to go on, "But I, when you had, had things going on with, uh, this, before, I wrote you a song…yeah." 

You couldn’t help the laughter bubbling up at how shy he was, but it was accompanied with your heart melting as he played the opening chords, looking up to you, smiling, then looking back at his hand as he strummed, sheepishly singing the first verses, a song which had you laughing and crying all at once at the end. 

He put Nigel back, crawling into bed beside you again, pulling your body flush with his, so that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. And he’d just hold you like that, until the morning where the promise would hold true that everything would be better; and he’d make you your favorite breakfast and burn it but you’d still love the effort he’d put in, and he’d leave stupid little notes tacked to mirrors and scales and doors with sweet things on them. 

He told you he wasn’t going anywhere any time soon, that you were what he needed and wanted and loved, but he’d say it subtly, little things that let you know he loved you more than anything else, and it was enough. 

+

link to previous (Jealousy): http://holysheerios.tumblr.com/post/76866924968/jealousy-imagine-9-you-see-him-talking-to

Masterlist: http://holysheerios.tumblr.com/post/76674951952/updated-masterlist

• ‘Be Like You,’ Imagine #10: You’re Insecure •
//please don’t take the caption from the picture or I’ll cry//
~{requested by anon, thanks love}~

•((Get some crackers cause it’s quite cheesy but I have so many prompts I can’t do much better oops I’m sorry, let me get away with this one))•

+

It’d always been like this, you were just better at concealing it, keeping those little inklings that maybe you weren’t all of these positive things Ed said you were, every time he told you it was true. Lately though, you’d been falling victim to that whisper in the back of your mind telling you you weren’t good enough for Ed, though he’d always say that the opposite held true.

And it was still, even then, standing in front of the full-body mirror in your shared bedroom after a shower, the hum of some football match on the television that Ed was watching downstairs. It had been a particularly long and stressful day, and you were struggling already with keeping yourself in check. He wasn’t there to joke with you about how you should wear nothing all the time, and you could feel the thought forming that maybe he didn’t mean it.

It was all too familiar, the sinking feeling as you caught your reflection in the mirror, studying it hard before it all rushed back to you, the problems that Ed had solved all becoming problems again, combined with the fatigue of the day, but you felt wrong interrupting him, asking him to come upstairs to you.

With a sigh, you just stood transfixed, thinking long and hard about it, so much so that you didn’t even hear him padding upstairs to you, drink in hand.

"Babe?" He called, knocking on the door before just walking in, because you would rarely tell him to go away, his mouth half-opening to tell you the score to the game when he saw you, looking at the mirror expressionless, the starting of tears forming in your eyes. It was enough.

He was at your side in a second, wrapping his arms around your middle, lips to your neck, starting to sway you side to side. “No,” he said, simply, there were no big speeches, no eloquence to it through words, but through touch. “No.”

You broke at that point, the first sob racking up your throat as your knees went weak against him, leaning against the warm solidity of his chest. He only secured his arms tighter around you, kissing behind your ear, shuffling his feet under yours. You turned your face to his shoulder, the heat rising to your cheeks in embarrassment, feeling so ridiculous standing there only in your bra and panties, a towel and a very concerned Ed wrapped around you. He hushed you, as you turned to him, feeling him pull the towel gently from around you, so it pooled at your feet, as you breathed him in, trying your best to control yourself, as it had been a very tiresome day.

He kept his hand on the soft skin of your back until you patterned after his breathing, letting his heartbeat calm you as he swayed you both gently back and forth, until he turned you around so you were both facing the mirror, dropping kisses to your wet shoulder.

He didn’t say much, he didn’t pour out his heart into some cliché sermon about how you were beautiful and perfect and amazing—though he certainly thought those things. He just held you like he knew you wanted, tracing words on your waist with his fingertips, staring at your reflection until you did the same, finally looking up.

"You need to come tell me when you’re feeling like this," he chided softly, to your mumble of ‘I didn’t want to interrupt you,’ which he shook his head at.

"Any time, you hear? Even if I’m on tour, skype me, call me, something. Promise me." You nodded, feeling his words echoing in the spacious bedroom. "I love you," he said, the words vibrating against your neck from his lips, "And you’re okay, we’re okay." And it was enough to let you believe that he was right.

You nodded, leaning back into him for as long as you needed, his chin tucked over your shoulder, turning his face occasionally to nibble at your ear in a way that had you breathless.

Soon enough however, he felt your body start to shake from the cold, having not dried off from the shower, and he laughed before leading you to the bed as you were, drawing the covers up over you before grabbing Nigel from his place at the foot of the bed, tuning him haphazardly.

"Okay," he began, clearing his throat, setting the worn instrument on his knee, looking over to you,

"This is—this is really cheesy, fuck," he stuttered, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, cheeks flushing, a breathy laugh that turned into a sigh as he regained himself as you waited for him to go on, "But I, when you had, had things going on with, uh, this, before, I wrote you a song…yeah."

You couldn’t help the laughter bubbling up at how shy he was, but it was accompanied with your heart melting as he played the opening chords, looking up to you, smiling, then looking back at his hand as he strummed, sheepishly singing the first verses, a song which had you laughing and crying all at once at the end.

He put Nigel back, crawling into bed beside you again, pulling your body flush with his, so that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. And he’d just hold you like that, until the morning where the promise would hold true that everything would be better; and he’d make you your favorite breakfast and burn it but you’d still love the effort he’d put in, and he’d leave stupid little notes tacked to mirrors and scales and doors with sweet things on them.

He told you he wasn’t going anywhere any time soon, that you were what he needed and wanted and loved, but he’d say it subtly, little things that let you know he loved you more than anything else, and it was enough.

+

link to previous (Jealousy): http://holysheerios.tumblr.com/post/76866924968/jealousy-imagine-9-you-see-him-talking-to

Masterlist: http://holysheerios.tumblr.com/post/76674951952/updated-masterlist

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    I wrote a thing yesterdayHere it is in case you missed it :)
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