written all over

“Mr Holmes!”

Mycroft’s spine stiffens. Slowly, he turns. Damnation. Devastatingly attractive, as always, but this time wearing black tie, and carefully shaved. Haircut, too, by the looks of it. Briefly, he mourns the loss of the long, scruffy silver hair Lestrade had been sporting the previous week, when Mycroft had picked up Sherlock and John from their latest escapade. Dark, soft brown eyes. Damn, damn, damn.

“Detective Inspector,” he says superciliously, lengthening his neck, tipping his head to the side. “I had not expected to see you –”

“– at a posh do like this?” finishes Lestrade, shooting him a grin. He runs a finger inside his collar, and Mycroft tries not to notice the soft, golden skin of his neck. “Just here accompanying my old mate Karen. She climbed the greasy pole and gets asked to all these things. Lowly DI like me’d never normally be invited to stuff like this,” he smiles, gesturing slightly at the glittering ballroom.

On a date, thinks Mycroft. Something in his chest tightens at the thought, and he valiantly tries to ignore it. “I see,” he says, crisply. He’s just opening his mouth to make his excuses when Lestrade interrupts.

“’S’pect you’re working, are you?” he asks, taking a couple of glasses of champagne from a passing tray, and handing one to Mycroft. “Shaking hands, taking names, threatening people?” he sips his champagne. Brown eyes, crinkled with amusement, twinkle at Mycroft over the edge of the glass.

Mycroft raises an eyebrow. Flirtatious? Surely not. Drunk? Does not seem it, but – “I am sure I do not know what you mean, Detective Inspector. I never threaten.”

“Sorry. What is it called, then? A subtle air of menace?”

Mycroft cannot help returning Lestrade’s warm smile, just a little, the merest twitch at the corners of his lips. “Perhaps.”

Lestrade grins. “Well, you’re dressed for it, anyway. You look like James Bond.”

Mycroft ignores the way his stomach clenches, and calmly raises an eyebrow. “I am not sure I should call James Bond subtle, Detective Inspector.”

“Nah, maybe not,” says Lestrade, taking another sip of champagne. “Looks good in a suit, though.”

Mycroft struggles to get his breathing under control for a few moments, during which time he witnesses Lestrade’s expression go from open and amused to guarded, and slightly worried. “Bond’s brand of diplomacy would certainly not be welcome in my profession,” he says quickly, hardly hearing what he’s saying. He takes a sip of champagne, mouth suddenly dry.

Lestrade’s eyes are cautious, but he gives a lopsided smile. “True. Bet you’re stuck here ’til the bitter end. Bond would’ve flounced out by now, with some hot young thing on his arm. Although.” He nods to where Anthea, wearing a plunging jewel-red ballgown, is talking composedly with a senior Minister.

Mycroft gives a quick flicker of a smile, and drops his gaze to the intricate pattern of the fine ballroom floor. Ah. So that is it. “I see,” he says, voice as neutral as possible. “My ineligibility as a Bond figure becomes still more glaring.”

There’s a brief beat of silence. Mycroft watches through his eyelashes as Lestrade gulps down the rest of his champagne. “Always wondered if you two were…” says Lestrade.

Mycroft’s head snaps up. “Why?” he asks, and his complete bafflement must be obvious.

Lestrade glances hurriedly up. “I –” he gestures ineloquently. “Sorry. Yeah. Stupid.”

Mycroft looks away across the dancefloor, stomach heavy. The taste of champagne has turned acid in his mouth. “She would appreciate being taken away from the Minister, I am sure,” he says flatly.

Lestrade clears his throat, but Mycroft keeps his gaze turned away, scanning the crowd.

“You know what,” says Lestrade, after a moment. “You were right. Bond’s not like you, not really. He’s more of a blunt instrument. Gets stuff done any way he can. More like a policeman, you might say.”

Mycroft half-raises an eyebrow, but does not turn to look into Lestrade’s eyes.

“Thought I might get out of here,” says Lestrade, and his voice is strange, perhaps a little breathless.

Mycroft nods tersely, mentally preparing his own reason for ending the conversation.

“D’you want to come with me?” asks Lestrade, and Mycroft’s head snaps round.

“I beg your pardon?”

Lestrade’s eyes are crinkled. Relief, apprehension and a kind of amused defiance are written all over his face. “Bond never leaves without someone good-looking on his arm.”

Mycroft blinks several times, tipping his chin up. His long fingers tighten around the champagne flute. He wishes he had his umbrella. There is an extended moment, during which the confused press of sounds in the ballroom seem to fade entirely away.

“My car is just outside, Detective Inspector.”

Young Hearts (A Peter Parker x Reader Imagine)

Request: Yes, by @lots-of-liz (Hope you like it love!)

Word Count: 1.8k

Summary: You’ve developed a crush on your friend, Peter, and you’re not sure what to do about it. Also included: study date!

Ships: Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings: Honestly, none. This is about as fluffy and cute as they come!

Taglist: @quacksonss, @yoinkpenisparker, @quackmom, & @friendlyneighbourhood-transbiboy 

*A/N: I’ve been sick and miserable these past couple of days, so I decided to write a fic Liz requested and the fluff has done my heart good. <3 I also realized while editing that the reader can be gender-neutral, which is a huge plus! Please enjoy. :)


You knock timidly on the door, trying to restrain your nerves. You aren’t sure why you’ve started feeling uneasy around Peter recently; the two of you have known each other for an eternity and a half, but somehow you feel like throwing up whenever he smiles at you now.

Maybe it was inevitable; everyone said friends often became more. But you think it has more to do with the new confidence you can see in Peter. He’s still awkward, and he still blushes easily, but there is something running under the surface, a hint of steel that baffles you.

When had Peter Parker started to grow up?

Keep reading

Honeymoon

This is for @jasoncrouse 

Summary:  Negan and his wife have some fun 

Pairing: Negan x Reader

Words: 3200

Warnings:  Fluffy smut, oral, sex, NSFW 

Tags: @kellyn1604 @thecynicalnerd @miiraal @marauderice @arkhamasylumpatient-blog1 @blondesouthsquad @enchantingoblivion @daintyunicorn @alyisdead @dead-head-joker @theonethatgotaway213 @idonthavehusbandsihavelovers @shanaatjelove11 @mac5323 @mwesterfeld1985 @negans-network @negan-is-god @jmackie1983 @i-am-negan-trash


You shook your fingers out and rolled your shoulders back, trying to calm down.  Sitting still was next to impossible as your leg bounced up and down.

“Jesus Christ Y/N.”  Amber walked into the lounge. “Chill out.”

A giant sigh escaped your lips, unsure if she was someone you could confide in. Amber didn’t seem to notice your hesitation as she plopped on the couch next to you, her black dress riding up her leg in the process.

“What has you acting even more jittery than normal?”  She eyed you up and down. “I’m bored, it better be a good story.”

Keep reading

Lightweight Killua AU

An AU for Lightweight Killua Headcanon

“You’re lying.” Gon stared at Killua dumbfounded, “There’s no way you’re telling the truth.” 

“I told you a million times. I’m immune to poisons- that includes alcohol, dummy.” Killua said, still looking through the aisle of different shaped bottles of various alcohols. “Logically, that means I can drink as much as I want and won’t feel a thing.”

“Still, though. I don’t buy it.” Gon pouted and Killua rolled his eyes at him.

“Too bad. It’s the truth. I can drink whatever I want and not have to worry about getting drunk.” Killua smirked, “You, on the other hand, would probably fall over after one drink.”

“I would not! I could handle drinking. Mito-san just never let me…” Gon stated, huffing. “And if you’re such a heavyweight, prove it. I wanna see.”

“Of course she wouldn’t let you drink! We’re underage!” Killua said, his eyebrows raised, “And fine! I will! I’ll drink all night and watch you get drunk.”

You’re the one getting drunk. It’s impossible to be immune to alcohol. You have to feel at least something.” Gon said, looking at all of the bottles before picking a couple- more out of looks than out of actual contents since he wasn’t exactly experienced with anything like this. Killua rolled his eyes before grabbing a few random bottles himself.

“Uh huh. Sure. I wonder what kind of drunk you’ll be. Hopefully not a loud one.” Killua winced, imagining an overly drunk Gon speaking ten decibels higher than normal.

“I bet you’ll be a funny drunk.” Gon said after some thought once they got to the checkout. The cashier eyed them suspiciously.

“Aren’t you kids a little young for drinking? Can I see some IDs?” He said sternly, looking from Killua to Gon.

“We’re sixteen!” Gon grinned, getting wacked on the back of the head by Killua.

“And we have these.” Killua handed the cashier his Hunter’s License as Gon pulled out his. The cashier sighed before bagging the drinks, waving them off.

“Go ahead.” He rubbed his temples, “Just… Don’t get into any trouble. I don’t need the Hunters Association giving me crap for giving kids alcohol.”

“Thanks!” Gon beamed, grabbing the bags.

“We’ll be fine, don’t worry!” Killua smirked and followed Gon out the door.


When they got back to their hotel room, the boys put out their spread of alcohol on the table. They’d ended up with tequila, vodka, wine, gin and whiskey. Gon stared as Killua got some paper cups from the counter before opening the bottles. 

“Ew that smells disgusting.” Gon scrunched up his nose as the smell hit him. Killua rolled his eyes before picking up the bottle of gin and pouring a little in a cup.

“It’s supposed to. At least, that’s what I’ve heard. Don’t be such a baby, Gon.” Killua teased, handing his friend the cup and pouring himself one. Gon stared at the contents unsure and Killua struggled not to laugh. “Just drink it.” 

“You haven’t had yours either!” Gon said, whining. 

“Okay fine. On three?” Killua suggested and Gon nodded. “One… Two… Three!” 

Both boys downed the cups of straight gin before their eyes widened. Gon spit hit out back into the cup, coughing. Killua clamped one hand over his mouth, the other clutching the counter as he struggled to swallow the liquid. When he succeeded, he gasped and coughed, his face red from the burning. He looked at Gon who’s eyes were watering.

“Th-That was horrible!” Gon said, before laughing, “Y-You should see your face, Killua! It’s so red!”

“Speak for yourself! You look like you’re crying your eyes are so watery!” Killua laughed. “Ugh, that tasted awful. Like antiseptic or something.” 

“Yeah, my throat- Wait a minute. You’re having more?” Gon said, staring in shock as Killua eyed the bottle of vodka suspiciously before pouring some.

“I said I was gonna drink all night, didn’t I? I have a point to prove. You want some, lightweight?” Killua said, waving the bottle in front of Gon tauntingly. Gon narrowed his eyes and snatched it, pouring some into his cup- already partially filled with gin. 

“Cheers?” Killua grinned, hitting Gon’s cup with his before they both forced it down.


“Heh, my face feels hot.” Killua blinked a few times, trying to make the room stop. Gon eyed him warily, looking suspiciously sober to Killua. “Hey, you haven’t drinked… drunk… drank… what’s the past tense?”

“Killua, maybe you should stop. You look pretty drunk.” Gon said, getting up from his bed to throw away his cup. Killua frowned stubbornly.

“No, you aren’t even drunk. And I am not drunk. And we have all this stuff to drink.” Killua slurred, stumbling a bit to the counter. Gon sighed, walking over to him, taking a bottle from his hands.

“It’s almost all gone anyway. And you are too drunk.” Gon said, crossing his arms. His cheeks were pink but for the most part, Gon had proven to be the one who could handle his liquor. “Come on, let’s go to bed. It’s getting late.” But Killua was already shaking his head, a dazed look in his blue eyes.

“‘m still thirsty.” He reached for the tequila before Gon swatted his hand away, a glare in his eyes.

“No, Killua. If you’re thirsty, I’ll get you water.” Gon said, his arms crossed, “I mean, sheesh, this stuff doesn’t even taste good. A stupid bet isn’t worth it. And you’re already drunk anyway- so you lost.” 

“Say, Gon, you’re really hot.” Killua said seriously, staring intently at the teen in front of him. Gon flushed brightly in surprise.

“H-Huh?” Gon squeaked.

“You are. You were cute before. But now you’re really hot.” Killua tilted his head a bit, his eyes glossing over Gon’s body. “Really, really, hot.” 

“Y-You’re drunk. You don’t mean that.” Gon laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of his head. 

“I do, though. You’re really hot and really amazing.” Killua hugged Gon’s body before he could stop it.

“K-Killua, l-let go.” Gon blushed, trying to wiggle his way out of Killua’s hold but succeeded only in having Killua draped along his back, his arms around Gon’s neck.

“Why is something so bright friends with me?” Killua mumbled, nuzzling Gon’s neck, eliciting a squeak from him.

“Where’s all this coming from?” His voice rising an octave when Killua tightened his hold on him.

“I never said ‘nything ‘cause I love you.” Killua slurred, before hiccuping. Gon’s breath hitched, as Killua continued. “You’re just so happy, you know? And you’re friends with me. I followed you on your date with Palm that one time because I wanted you to ask me out. But you’re a stupid head and-”

“W-Wait, you love me?” Gon whispered, a permanent blush staining his cheeks. Killua glared, rubbing his cheek on the back of Gon’s neck.

Yeah. You gotta pay ‘tention, dummy. I’ve loved you for forever. You’re really cute and-” 

“It’s not nice to lie, Killua. Even if you are drunk.” Gon’s voice shook a bit, trying to process it. Killua growled in frustrated and stumbled off of Gon before grabbing his face in his hands.

“’m not drunk. And I’m not lying!” Gon barely had time for his eyes to widen in surprise before Killua yanked their lips together.


Ugh, dammit…” Killua grumbled, feeling the contents of his stomach sloshing dangerously. He planted his face further into his pillow in an effort to block out any daylight. His head pounded, his stomach hurt more than it had in years, and he couldn’t remember a thing.

“Um, Killua?” Gon asked quietly, holding a glass of water some pain medications. “A-Are you feeling alright?” Killua stayed silent so he pressed further, “Killua?”

“I lost, okay? I got drunk. Big whoop.” Killua muttered, looking up to glare at Gon- only to find the boy looking away, a red blush across his cheeks. “Gon? What’s wrong?”

“N-Nothing. Um, here’s some medicine and some water.” Gon practically thrust the items at Killua without looking at him. 

“Thanks…” Killua eyed Gon suspiciously as he took the medicine, cringing as his stomach lurched a bit. He set the glass down on the bedside table. “What…What happened last night? I don’t really remember much after we got into the vodka…” Killua’s cheeks turned pink, imagining what he could have said or done.

“You don’t remember anything?” Gon said, looking back at Killua surprised. Killua shook his head, gingerly sitting up.

“Nope. Nothing. I remember feeling kinda funny and I remember you asking me if I was okay. But I wanted to win and figured I could shake it off. Guess not.” Killua said sheepishly, still wondering why Gon was acting so weird. “So, what’d I do?”

“You, um…” Gon chewed his lip, “ran outside in your underwear. Sorry, I tried to stop you but you were kinda fast…” Killua sat there before his face turned from shy to mortified.

“Wh-What?! No way. There’s no way I did that.” Killua said, panicking. He looked up, catching a glimpse of guilt in Gon’s eyes. His own eyes narrowed, “You liar.”

“I didn’t lie!” Gon glared at the accusation- no matter how true it was, he was not a liar.

“Yes, you did! You have guilt written all over your face!” Killua ignored the urge to throw up and the way his head was screaming at him to lie back down.

“Ugh, fine! I lied! There, you happy?” Gon groaned, crossing his arms across his chest.

“I’d be happier if you would just tell me what happened!” Killua said, really panicking at this point. Why wouldn’t Gon look at him without getting all flustered.

“Okay, okay… You kinda, sorta, called me hot.” Gon flushed. Killua blinked before glaring at him.

“You’re lying again!”

“I am not! You said you loved me too!” Gon yelled his blush bright. He watched Killua’s cheeks turn pink. “If you don’t believe me, you said you followed me on my date with Palm because you were jealous and-”

“I was not! She was crazy and I didn’t trust you with her!” Killua’s eyes widened before he turned an even darker shade of red. Gon was in the same boat, torn between teasing his best friend, and pressing him for more of a confession- a sober one. 

“S-So… do you?” Gon started, his voice quiet and hesitant.

“Do I what? Do I think you’re hot? Because the answer is no. You are not hot right now.” Killua huffed, getting up and walking towards the bathroom. Something in Gon’s eyes sparked, a grin reaching across his face.

Right now? You mean I normally look hot? Or just sometimes?” Gon teased, following him. He could see Killua’s ears turn red as he stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

“I am never drinking with you again!” Killua yelled from inside the bathroom and Gon couldn’t stop the laughter bubbling in from his chest.

Inspired by talks with @mowedith 💜

anonymous asked:

oh thats easy actually. you got so many followers because you post good meta and get reblogged by already popular vld blogs ;/

I haven’t posted meta in…… months I think………….. at least not serious analysis meta I just throw some screenshots together and cry about Keith…… but you’re definitely right, the already popular blogs probably play a huge role in how my posts get notes :’D

anonymous asked:

could you imagine shawn dating a girl from mexican heritage and her speaking spanish oH MY GOSH i can see the confusion and awe written all over his face. (or really any girl from a different heritage speaking their language)

I think Shawn would love dating someone who - of course spoke english - but had a different language as well. I think he’d be super cute trying to learn the language and failing horrible at it as well but he’d never stop trying because he really wanted to be able to speak in your language when visiting your family.

I can imagine him being all caught up in listening to you speak that language, like just staring at you and listening carefully to your words. And imagine watching movies with your native language on and him asking you every other second what this means or how to say that word or how to say a certain thing in english while watching and him trying to mutter along with the lines. And omg, you playing your fave songs in your native language to him and singing along and explaining to him what the lines meant and him jamming out to it carelessly. And him being turned on as fuck when you spoke in your native language during sex because it just sounds so exotic and sexy to him. 

anonymous asked:

Here's my opinion about kisses. Darren has even more chemistry with his friend Rebecca Naomi Jones. Look at them together: they kiss, hugs(it looks sometimes like cheating too, isn't it?). They feel comfortable, they respect each other. What about his "love"? He looks miserable around her. I think Darren doesn't respect her so much that he's even ashamed when she's around. It's written all over his face. When his Team Incompetent is going to understand that their "wonderful" plan doesn't work?..

Darren has more chemistry with his kitchen sink that he does with her. They don’t care.  For whatever reason, Team Incompetent have chosen her interests over him.

Lost stars [J-Hope Angst]

“Answer me, is it all true?” Silence was everything that was heard. Pain was written all over our face. One’s was because of the other’s.

You looked at me, tears threatening to leave.“stop.” You whispered almost breaking down. I was a fool. Such a fool to put you down. “It’s all over the media” I said trying not to lose my sanity. I wished it was all fake.. And just a cruel nightmare. I wanted it all to be fake. But a piece of mine still believed in it.. I don’t recall what happened after that. More like.. I never had the guts to.

My cheeks hurt a lot. I could tell that they were red. It ached a bit. You were all red too.. Red with shame..

“Am sorry.."You said as you approached me.. I wanted to hug you.. I wanted to tell you that I was sorry. But something told me to leave the cold den that night. I took nothing but my car keys. Hoping to last the night, I drove to the Han river.The place where we first met.. I drove back to my apartment. I landed straight on my bed. Tears finally escaped the prison of my greed. The prison that I had enforced on my feelings and the truth. Next thing I remember was you messaging me that you were sorry.. I wanted to tell you that I was the one who was sorry..  I wanted to let you know,it was never your fault. I wanted to reply you.. Your calls, messages and video messages. But I was just too afraid to.. I was ashamed to.. I was sad and broken..

I replied you, which I think was the most obvious and was used by most losers.. Losers like me.

It was simple yet so strong.

"Let’s breakup.”

Next thing I know I was laying on the ground crying.. Hoping you would come to me. My hopes were dead, the day I saw you holding her hands..

They say you moved on.. with some other girl. Maybe it was all too late.. I wish I answered you that night.  I wish I begged you for forgiveness. I wish.. I never hurt you… I wish you could see how much of a guilty soul I was..

They say you are doing fine, that you are already engaged… That she is carrying your child..

Maybe if I asked you for forgiveness that night.. Maybe if I loved you enough.. Maybe it might’ve been beautiful today..

7 years passed so easily.. But forgetting you has never  been that easy as I thought it would be.

We do see each other at times while promoting our respective music.. We are doing great.. We won 7 Daesangs during these past 7 years. It feels good to collaborate with your band. Suga and I are working on a music.. He often asks about my relation with you.. But now that every thing is gone.. I decide not to recall my past..

But watching you hate me.. Really makes me hate myself..

THIS IS THE FIRST FANFIC I EVER WROTE. BUT THEN WANTED TO SHOW YA’LL HOW CRINGEY I WAS. LOL

WELL HERE YOU GO!!!!

This has nothing to do w/ anything and I know people have talked about it before BUT I want to as well. Usually my metas tend to be angsty af and then end on a hopeful note, and this will probably be no exception. But anyway, a delve into Victor’s love of fairytales!

I can recall on 2 occasions Victor specifically comparing Yuuri to a fairytale.

Which may not seem like a lot but we have 12 episodes and if something is pointed out twice in a story, it has some amount of significance. Anyway, I just think it’s so damn cute that Victor considers Yuuri prince-like. Even the visuals and story of On Love: Eros is like a fairytale!

We go on about how extra Victor is (and he 200% is…that 50s pink cadillac tho) but I wanna here more about how much of a true romantic Victor is. 

This entire thing is like an hc-palooza courtesy of me. Here we go!

I like to think of a little Victor, watching all these fairytale movies–Disney or otherwise–and dreaming of one day finding a prince of his own.

A 12 year old Victor with his first real crush, staring at a pretty boy with darker hair and kind eyes in one of his classes or at the rink. Victor thought he had found his prince, until one day the affection faded and his mind focused on other things. 

A teenage Victor, going through various relationships like others would go through clothing. He’s a busy young man after all, and no one seems to want to look beyond the Victor Nikiforov on screen, one the ice, and actually date him. Victor starts to wonder if there is a prince out there for him. 

Victor as a young adult, still a romantic at heart, but has pretty much entirely lost hope on finding his true love. No one sticks around, and he hasn’t found anyone he cares deeply enough about to chase. Victor’s lonely, to put it simply. He sits up at night sometimes, and watches all those fairytales from when he was a child. Victor smiles sadly at the end of them all, and dreams of a prince of his own. 

And Victor in his late 20s, as we see him pre-series. He’s frosted with depression and loneliness; the never-ending cold discs of metal, the isolation from other skaters, people kissing up to him left and right. Everything is predictable. He’s running out of motivation, out of ideas. Victor knows people only want him as what they see when he performs. It’s a saddening thought, that Victor is not lovable as himself. Some people were not meant to find a true love, he supposes.

Until one night, a night we all know well. 

The Sochi GPF banquet. Victor is intrigued by this attractive man flitting through the room, clearly intoxicated, but with this charming energy no one can resist. Not even Yuri Plisestky, himself pulled into a dance with Japan’s Yuuri Katsuki. 

Victor manages to escape from his sponsors to laugh and point and take pictures from the sidelines. Yuuri whirls past him and the way the light shines on his hair and eyes makes Victor’s breath catch and his heart skip. 

Victor watches as Yuuri dances with Chris–and wow, is that a show and a half. Yuuri strides over to Victor and holds him in place, hips shaking and Victor can only stare on in wonder. This beautiful, energetic, charming young man is staring up at him, like he’s the only person in the room. Victor can’t understand Japanese, but that doesn’t matter–what matters is the warmth of Yuuri’s body, the sparkle of his eyes, and the earnestly fond tone he speaks with. Victor’s heart is beating out of his chest and he can’t imagine this moment getting better until-

Be my coach, Victor!

Victor’s face flushes with a little gasp and he can’t find it in himself to refuse the request or the next dance they share together. 

As Victor laughs spins and smiles like he hasn’t since child, looking at Yuuri all the while, he can feel it in his chest. 

A prince. A prince is with him!

And oh, when Yuuri dips him low, the lights above framing his face and hair like a halo, Victor knows that his prince has finally come for him. 

3

My favorite part about this kiss is how intense Dylan/Stiles’ face is. He’s kissing her like she’s his lifeline, the air he breathes. He’s so consumed in this moment, in this kiss, in Lydia. You can feel how much he loves her and how much this moment means to him. This is everything Stiles has spent the past 10 years building up to, and the intensity with which he kisses Lydia is like none I’ve ever seen. Lydia holds onto to Stiles, kissing him back just as forcefully, and we get this incredible moment that seems to stop time. I just can’t get over how much you can tell that this is quite possibly the most important day of Stiles’ life just by the expression he makes when kissing Lydia. It’s gentle and intense and heartbreaking all at the same time. You can feel the gentleness he possesses for Lydia, but it’s also this intense fire that burns hot enough to consume them both. It’s so amazing that these two completely opposite things can exist simultaneously in just one expression. Dylan never ceases to amaze me with how much he understands Stiles as a character and his unconditional love for Lydia.

Six months ago I stomped your heart out on the streets of the neighborhood we used to roam.
You hated me. God, you fucking hated me. You hated that you loved me. God, you loved me. So much.
Tears were coming down from your mesmerizing green eyes, it was tragically beautiful. You were at your most vulnerable, your most raw and true self. The red around your eyes just brought out the green, I’ve never seen your eyes so bright yet so lifeless. You were crying, but it was beautiful.
Your knuckles were coated in blues and purples. You were so angry I could feel the hatred in your screams.
Now I’m looking at you, the 6am sunrise shining down on us, and you’re looking at me how you used to.
Before I broke your heart.
I swear you have the same puppy dog eyes, the exact same loving expression written all over your face.
How do you do that?
How do you still love me, the exact same, after I broke you?
—  v.m // that is love

Does everyone else here agree that Draco Malfoy is the biggest sap of all time and probably has Mr. Draco Potter written all over his textbooks? And he surrounds them in little love hearts that he has enchanted to animate so they pulse like mini beating hearts. And he thinks nobody knows, because just the thought of him and Potter is utterly ridiculous. Who would think such a thing? But it’s so OBVIOUS. Because we’re talking every second page of EVERY textbook he owns.

And Pansy has to take him aside one day and be like, “You need to calm the fuck down on the hearts or at least cast a disillusionment charm on them before a Gryffindor sees and tells your lover boy.” And Draco, blushing like a motherfucking fire engine, gets so embarrassed that he throws all his books down the toilet (because a vanishing spell just isn’t dramatic enough for Draco My father will hear about this Malfoy). But he forgets his old friend Myrtle lives in the s bend, and isn’t so fond of being hit in the head by heavy textbooks.

So, she gets her revenge by delivering all of Draco Malfoy’s wet textbooks to the very person he never ever wanted to see them: Harry fucking Potter. At first Harry’s a little skeptical of the pile of dripping books left on his bedside table, but being the curious fool he is (and Hermione not being around to remind him the books could easily be cursed), he opens the first one to find Mr. Draco Potter written in elegant, cursive hand surrounded by a tacky (but adorable) beating heart. And the same thing in the next book. And the book after that. And every book there after.

Draco is minding his own business in Potions the next day when none other than Harry Potter sits down next to him. Which is surprising but nothing compared to what he does next. “I think you misplaced this,” he says and hands over a Potions book. Draco looks at it and horror and then up at Harry Potter’s face. Which is smiling. And not in the way that could be construed as teasing. But perhaps a genuine smile. Which is not possible.

But Draco is too embarrassed to look at Potter any more so he diverts his attention to the textbook in front of him. It’s his, alright. And looking pretty worse for wear after its trip down the s bend. His only hope is that perhaps this book isn’t as bad as the rest. Perhaps Potter didn’t even see any love hearts. Perhaps…well, Draco doesn’t really believe it but he’s desperate. He has to remind himself how bad the damage really is, so he opens the first page.

And there, underneath Draco’s neat scrawl, in the most hideous handwriting Draco Malfoy has ever seen, is Mr. Harry Malfoy.

10