#and his almost barely readable handwriting

[the-ace-with-spades]

Bradley is eleven, will turn twelve in five months, his mom has been dead for over a year, and his dad for over nine.

His homeroom teacher gives him a permission slip for a school trip to some dumb museum Bradley’s probably already been to and says, “Your dad needs to sign it before next Monday.”

It’s Mav picking him up from school today — it’s Ice, usually, but he is supervising night-time flight maneuvers tonight — so Bradley gets in the car and they go over the normal, how was school today, any new grades, any homework to do, do you need to bring anything for class tomorrow.

They’ve stopped at a light and Bradley takes out the permission slip and says, “Mrs. Sanchez said my dad needs to sign it before Monday or I won’t go.”

Mav—Mav freezes. His hand grips the shift gear and he clenches his jaw, not looking at Bradley. The car behind them has to honk for him to snap out of it.

“I’m—I’m not your dad, Bradley,” he finally says.

“It’s just what Mrs. Sanchez said,” he points out. He doesn’t think it’s such a big deal — Mav’s been doing everything a dad would for years now, for Bradley, and Ice has been helping him the last couple of years. It’s a conclusion that many come to and it seems logical. Bradley is sure half of his teachers thought that even back when his mom was alive, Mav had certainly been to enough PTA meetings with her that it’d be an easy mistake.

“You can correct her, buddy, no one is going to be mad if you correct her, okay?”

They arrive at the house and Mav still hasn’t added anything. Bradley shrugs it off — Mav has these moments, sometimes, when he gets all quiet and unresponsive. Ice usually tells him to leave him alone or wait a couple of hours and try to cuddle with him. Bradley is kind of too big for that now, but it seems to help sometimes.

So Bradley asks if Mav needs help with dinner and after hearing no, goes back to his room.

Out of all that mess, he forgets about the permission slip.

He sits down and fills out all the empty lines so Mav just has to sign it — in capital letters, his handwriting isn’t that readable yet — and leaves just that last line with the date and signature empty.

He thinks, once again, about what Mrs. Sanchez said.

He doesn’t feel the need to correct her, still. He barely remembers his dad — he knows he loved them and he’ll never forget all the stories he heard from everyone but they’re, well, just stories. Mav is the one who taught him how to ride a bike and helped him make stupid macaroni projects for art classes, taught him how to count to a hundred, and how to tie his shoelaces and who would notice when Bradley was outgrowing his clothes or needed a new shoe size. Mav is there, every memory he has. Mav loves him like his mom and dad did.

Mav is his dad.

If Bradley’d really think about it, Ice is getting really close to being his dad, too. He’s making Bradley’s school lunches and helping him with his English homework from time to time, and he comes to Bradley’s matches and, even if Mav will never admit it, he’s the one who choses Bradley’s Christmas and birthday presents. He makes him hot chocolate when he has nightmares and stays with him for hours in the living room, reading plane manuals out loud, in the same tone his mom used to use to read his bedtime stories.

Bradley calling Mav his dad is as logical as people assuming he is his dad. And maybe it can be the same with Ice, in the near future, or maybe even now, if he agrees.

Bradley wants to call Mav dad.

So he grabs the permission slip and goes to the kitchen to tell him that.

“I don’t know, Ice, I just don’t know.”

He doesn’t notice Bradley there, standing with the piece of paper in his hand in the doorway. The phone’s cord is stretched across the kitchen, almost completely straight, as he talks with the handle between his ear and shoulder, slicing an onion at the same time.

“I’ve always wanted to have kids, as unrealistic as it seemed, but not like this,” he continues. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this, I’m not his dad, he’s not my son, it’s just wrong to think that, I’m not—He can’t think that.”

Bradley blinks. Once, twice, a third time. Takes a quiet step back behind the doorframe, flattens his back on the cold wall. Holds his breath.

“I mean, you’ve always said you don’t want kids,” Mav says, the knife clanking on the cutting board as he changes the hand holding the phone. “We made do with the situation, obviously, but we’re not his parents—”

Bradley doesn’t want to hear more.

*

Bradley was right — he’s already been to the Castle Air Museum. More than once, with his mom, with Mav and Ice, and with Uncle Slider and Aunt Sarah.

His dad didn’t sign the permission slip but Mav did.

It’s sunny so they’re left to wander around the outside display. The tour was boring — their tour guide couldn’t even answer the questions about engines and wingspans and takeoff capacity and it was so disappointing to know more than the adult that was supposed to teach them, again.

The rest of his class went with the tour guide, to see the open cockpit of the Mentor but Bradley just turned around to the F-4 that was on the edge of the display, old and partially reconstructed with cheap metal and plastic. He sits down on the grass in front of it and lets the sun shine at the modern paint that should not belong on the fuselage of a Phantom.

Mrs. Sanchez comes over, standing above him, looking at the Phantom with an appreciation that is clearly less understanding and more awe at the sight. She hums before asking Bradley, “You don’t want to see the cockpit with everyone? Maybe they’ll let you sit in the pilot seat, today. Our group is small.”

The open cockpit belongs to T-34, a piston-driven one they stopped using in the fifties. “I flew one of those, but it was a T-34C, powered by a turboprop.”

Mrs. Sanchez looks at him, tilting her head a bit, not really understanding what Bradley said, like most people don’t when he talks about planes. ”I suppose it’s not that impressive of a place when your dad is a naval aviator, is it?”

Mav told him to correct her so he does, “He’s not my dad.”

He brings his knees closer, wishing she’d go away. Instead, she sits down next to him, her white pants smudged green by the grass in seconds.

“Is something wrong at home, Bradley? Is your—Is everything okay with Pete?”

“Yeah,” he says because he doesn't want to be whiney. He’s already been enough trouble. “His dad flew one of those.”

Mrs. Sanchez looks at the plague in front of them to remind herself of the plane’s name. “A Phantom?”

“Yeah, during Vietnam War.”

“He must be really proud of Pete then.”

Bradley supposes he’d be. “He didn’t come back.”

Mav lost his dad, too, and then his mom. He met Bradley’s mom in the foster system and she became like a sister to him. Bradley probably wouldn’t even know Mav if Duke Mitchell was alive.

Bradley was in the foster system for three weeks when his mom died, before Mav and his case worker had filed all the appropriate paperwork. He was placed in a foster family in the neighboring town — the wife, Sandie, didn’t work and would take him to school every morning, and the husband, Robert, was a corporate lawyer, bent from six to five. They would take Bradley to church every Sunday with the rest of the kids even though Sundays were the only days Mav had enough time to drive out of Fresno and visit him while the paperwork was still in progress,

They were nice, he supposes, and some of the kids called them mom and dad, so they couldn’t be too bad.

“Is there a way I could go back to the foster system?” 

Mrs. Sanchez looks away from the plane, clears her throat, and asks gently, “Why would you go back there?”

“I dunno, just—Is there a way to put me back there?”

“I don’t think so, no, Bradley, not unless—” she breaks off, taking a deep breath, and says softly, “I’m sure Pete wouldn’t like that.”

Maybe he wouldn’t like that but it’d make everything easier for everyone.

*

It’s a few weeks later. Mrs. Sanchez hasn’t mentioned anything to Bradley even if she keeps on looking out for him during recess so he doesn’t think she’ll drill the topic.

Mav and Ice have both gone to the PTA meeting which Bradley finds odd. They’ve always been very careful about their relationship — his mom had given him a talk about how he couldn’t call Ice Mav’s boyfriend when he was six, well, Bradley had called him his husband because he didn’t really know the difference back then, and he had been instructed to keep it a secret.

He’s never mentioned it to anyone, since then, especially not to Mrs. Sanchez. He used to think it was stupid because they were both his parents and they should both be allowed to come to his plays and career days and charity fairs, but now he supposes it was convenient since Ice didn’t want a kid and probably didn’t want to be included in all those parental stuff anyway.

They pick him up from Uncle Slider and Aunt Sarah’s place but they don’t say anything. Usually, they at least mention that Bradley has good grades.

Maybe he’s doing something wrong, again. He got into one fight a couple of weeks ago but Mav said it was alright as long as it didn’t happen again.

“Can you come up to the living room once you unpack?”

Bradley takes his time. He unpacks his English homework, the only one he couldn’t do but also one Uncle Slider couldn’t really help him with — Aunt Sarah probably could but she’s been sleeping the whole time because apparently being six months pregnant is making her super sleepy. Contemplates asking Ice for help with it but decides it’s probably better he doesn’t.

He needs to start doing these things alone. He can’t bother them forever.

In six years, he’s going to be in college, and he holds onto that thought.

“So, your grades are perfect and we’re really proud of how well you’re doing in school, but—But Mrs. Sanchez mentioned a couple of things about your behavior,” Mav says.

Bradley doesn’t sit down with them on the couch even though they left space for him in the middle. He also doesn’t reply anything.

They both look at Bradley for a long moment and he fidgets under their gazes.

“Mrs. Sanchez said you asked her whether we—whether we can give you back for adoption,” Mav begins. “We’re just worried about where that question came from, Bradley, we aren’t going to—”

He said we like Ice actually wants anything to do with Bradley’s guardianship.

“We love you, Bradley, we promised your mom we’d take care of you and—”

He isn’t their son. He’s a promise they’re keeping and nothing else.

“Can I go back to my room?”

“Buddy—” Mav begins again.

Bradley doesn’t want to hear whatever he has to say. He already knows everything he needs to know.

“I know you love me, I know you won’t give me back. It was just a stupid question, is all,” he says because that was the truth — they promised his mom they would love him and here they were, trying very hard to do that.

They don’t need to pretend it’s anything else.

“Okay,” Ice says, carefully. “I’ll make you some hot chocolate and we can talk some more—”

“I just want to go to sleep.”

There’s a moment of silence and they give each other a meaningful look before turning back to Bradley.

Ice notes, “It’s not even seven.”

“We painted the whole nursery with Uncle Slider, I’m just tired. Can I go?”

“You’re not in trouble,” Mav says.

“I know,” Bradley tells him even if he isn’t so sure about it. “Can I go? I still have some homework to do.”

part two/Slider POV now here

#bradley rooster bradshaw #mavdad #icemav #tgm #my fics #this was supposed to be a series but no time and too many wips #so im just posting it as it is #tho be prepared for icemav pov of this and slider pov and future post-mission hangster pov #so maybe part 2 coming? #it'll be angsty too but well ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ #the ace rooster fic is being written btw bc #the mini fics are in my head and banging on the walls begging to come out #op #charlie writes

[chezzywezzy]

Yandere Eddie Munson Drabble

Word count ; 6.9k

*Edited.

“…I’m sorry. I’m flattered, really, but I just don’t really know you that well.”

The moment those words escaped her lips, Eddie was crestfallen. As confident as he tried to come off, leaning against the hallway just after club activities, in front of the love of his life, hearing those words were enough to make his small grin falter.

She didn’t know him.

Y/n, in her club outfit, couldn’t meet the man’s intense stare. She was fiddling with her shirt and her gaze was glued to the ground. The main indication of embarrassment, though, was that her cheeks flushed and darkened. At first, when Eddie was delivering his heavily recited confession, he took it as a good sign. But now, he realized that she was just trying to find her words.

Eddie cleared his throat and stood up straight. His body was rigid and his head was still digesting the revelation. Sure, it’s not like he’d ever had a real conversation with her before, but… Eddie had tried. He wrote secret admirer letters, too scared to reveal himself yet, and watched from a distance when Y/n opened them and became a blushing mess. He left small gifts, too, like when he noticed she needed some new pens and pencils. Sure, Eddie had never made it known that it was him leaving love letters and tokens of affection, but clearly, the woman had yet to realize. 

“Well, uh… I, uh - we can always… get to know each other,” he mumbled, his cheek flushing when he realized he’d have to grovel. “I just… I, uh, like you. A lot. And I’ve been the, uh, person leaving you stuff in your locker, and…”

Y/n deadpanned, and Eddie clammed up immediately. He shoved his hands into his ripped jean’s pockets, some of his rings still peaking out. He shuffled his foot against the ground, and he was sure he would have a heart attack if things didn’t go his way. He noticed how Y/n paled, though, and wondered if he finally got through to her.

She took a step back, clutching her schoolbag to her chest. She still couldn’t meet his eyes and grew even more tense. “O - oh. So that’s… you?”

“Uh, well, yeah. And I mean every word of it.”

Y/n could remember the first time she received one of the letters and gifts at the start of the school year. At first, her heart accelerated with excitement at the idea of someone having a crush on her. The handwriting was total chicken scratch and barely readable. And yet, the words were so flowery and beautiful, things she’d never been told before. 

‘I like the way you dress.’ 

‘You have a gorgeous smile.’

‘You have the most desirable personality.’

‘You look so cute when you’re with your friends.’

‘I’ve liked you for so long and I want to be something more.’

Y/n almost did fall for the secret admirer, so very tempted to leave a letter in exchange. And yet, that’s when she noticed. How, instead of sweet, general compliments, they became specific. Too specific. It made sense that it was a classmate of her’s, so she hardly minded the comments about her falling asleep in classes, but they became so much more.

‘I love it when you run your fingers through your hair.’

‘I overheard your conversation about the new song you like. I bought it as soon as I got home.’

‘I didn’t like the way Patrick was looking at you. I think he has a thing for you.’

‘I find it cute when you have a hard time changing your shirt in a rush for club time.’

And yet, still, she paid it no mind. Each morning, she tried going at school at a different time in hopes of catching who was responsible for being a complete stalker. And yet, no matter how early or late she arrived, it was always there. It was like they always knew where she was.

And then it became even worse. They were anxious, cruel, paranoid. The letters, instead of sweet compliments scrawled on torn notebook papers it became angry, jealous essays. The first few times it started happening, she read the letters. But what she read burned into her retinas and after a few days, she feigned an illness to get away from it.

She stopped reading them, but in a way, that made her even more scared.

‘Stop talking to Patrick. I don’t want to do anything rash because I love you, doll, but you make it hard to not beat the shit out of him.’

‘I don’t like how much you hang out with your friends. You’re too close to Max and Lucas. They have some shitty altier motive.’

‘I really wish you’d stop wearing teeshirts to school. Remind me to leave you one of my sweatshirts so you stop walking around with that much skin showing.’

‘I’m sorry I’m so jealous, doll. It’s just that we’re made for each other and I hate seeing anyone look at you. If I could, I’d burn out everyone else’s eyes so only I could see you.’

‘I love you.’

Y/n was petrified. For a while, she lived ignorantly although cautiously. She figured that if she stopped reading them, the letters would disappear. Her stalker would disappear. But, instead, here that stalker was. Standing in front of her as if they weren’t a complete psycho that threatened her. and her loved ones

When Eddie first confessed, she didn’t connect the dots at all. He seemed too nervous and shy. Too innocent. They'd never interacted before, so she saw no reason for him to be the stalker. And then, when the revelation left his lips, it took every fiber of her body not to scream and run away. She’d never been the judgmental type and only knew of Eddie Munson. But clearly, he was creepy and insane and a freak.

Y/n knew not to push the limits. But she also knew not to be a pushover. She had enough confidence and slash or fear to know that giving any reciprocation for his feelings would make things worse, but so would being rude and abrupt. From the letters and gifts, Y/n knew that Eddie Munson was dangerous.

“I - I’m sorry, Eddie. I really am,” she whispered, barely audible. The man had to hunch over slightly to hear, especially with how crowded and loud the conversations in the school hallway were. “It’s just… I think you’re - well, you’re a little… creepy. The letters, um, were a little… too much.”

Eddie listened intently, although his brain short-circuited when he was once again rejected. He was scared that, for a moment, she was rejecting him because of his reputation. But, if it was just because of the letters…

Y/n was quick to realize Eddie heard what he wanted to hear. He interpreted how he wanted to interpret.

He answered with more energy than she’d hoped. "Oh. I mean, if that’s all… I can always stop. I just, uh, think we could be some power couple. I’ve, uh had a couple name in mind for years.”

“Y - years?” Y/n squeaked, once again taking a step back. 

The students were beginning to disperse and the hallways were becoming empty. Everyone was heading home. Except for some exhausted teachers and friend groups, they were completely deserted. Y/n was petrified. The man standing before her was completely delusional and was seemingly refusing to take no for an answer.

Eddie tilted his head, quirking a brow. He took a step closer, eyeing the woman up and down. He easily caught on that she was a little frightened, but he didn’t think much of it. She was just confused. Maybe all of the rumors fucking Patrick and his friends were spreading around were getting to her.

“Yeah, years. I, uh, promise, doll, this isn’t just a crush. I love you. So, so much. I mean, I already planned the wedding out in my head. I was thinking something small, quaint, cute. I’d put a little more of my own flair into it, but I really only give a shit about, uh, making you happy. I mean, I thought I’d ask you once we started dating, but I overheard you talking about it with Max during a sleepover, so —“

“What?”

Eddie paused, grinning bashfully as his cheeks reddened. He had unknowingly rambled. Sure, Y/n was still baffled by the interaction, but he was sure she’d come around. She just had to. But, in reality, Y/n was on the verge of tears. She was shaking in her boots. She’d known he stalked her at school, but to know that he knew where she lived - it shook her to her core.

Eddie Munson was dangerous.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to ramble.”

“Y - you know where I live?”

Eddie tilted his head in confusion. The cogs turned, trying to decipher what was wrong. Especially now that he noticed how she continued to shrink away and how glossy her eyes were. He swallowed thickly. And that’s when it hit him.

In a panic, he raised his arms and waved them defensively. “Wait, doll, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m not a bad guy —“

That was all Y/n needed to hear. She choked back a loud sob and the tears started spilling. She couldn’t think straight, taking a few more steps away from Eddie Munson. And when he tried swiping at her to bring her back to him, she dodged, hiccuping.

Eddie grit his teeth. He tried desperately to grab her shoulder, her bag, anything. All of his confidence converted into sheer panic and concern, because in his mind, things were supposed to go a lot smoother. She was supposed to fall at his feet with love like he constantly did for her. They were supposed to kiss passionately as the mental music swelled.

And yet, instead, he could do nothing but watch, one hand outstretched toward where she once was, as she darted down the hall.

Y/n ran like her life depended on it, because in her mind, it did. She wanted to call the police immediately and get a restraining order. And yet, she didn’t want to be anywhere that she knew he could find her. That eliminated not only the school, but her home.

As she pushed open the front door of the school, she peered over her shoulder. Eddie Munson wasn’t there. 

She hopped onto her bike. Her trembling body barely registered enough, and as she set off, she almost ran right into a large van. It probably belonged to the janitor. And, as she swerved through the parking lot and sped up the small hill, she glanced over her shoulder to see that Eddie Munson had finally burst out of the school entrance, panting and panicked.

Y/n gulped down, realizing she’d have to pay attention to the road. The rest of the parking lot had been bare, which made her think that surely he didn’t have a car. She’d surely have the upper hand in escaping. Besides, if she got home, she could just retreat to her parent’s warm and loving arms and call the police.

She was scared for her life. From how violent his previous letters had been, and how he carried a terrible reputation, she was worried he’d do something. He’d actually hurt her, or even worse, some of her classmates. She pulled up to a red light. She intended on going straight home, but seeing as she knew the local area well enough, she instead forced the bike onto the sidewalk and took a hard right.

She entered the more urban part of town. That wasn’t really where she lived, but some of her friends did and she knew the area well-enough. She kept speeding down the sidewalk, occasionally swerving to avoid tiny children and cute teenage couples. But, generally, the ride was urgent and almost calming.

That is, until she glanced over her shoulder and recognized the same beat up van trailing only slightly beside her. It was eerily slow, driving no more than ten miles an hour. The engine continuously sputtered. Y/n’s gaze was glued to the van in horror. What confirmed her suspicions even further was that, through the dark glass, she instantly recognize the messy trusses and gothic ornate fashion of Eddie Munson. 

They made momentary eye contact and it sent chills down Y/n’s spine. The man looked equally as panicked as he did dead serious. His hands were gripping the steering wheel and his eyes bore into her. There was just as much of a mean, determined glare as there was a pleading expression. It frightened Y/n to her core.

When Y/n’s attention returned to the front of her, though, she let out a gasp of fright. She planted her feet on the ground desperately, trying to force the bike to stop. She’d come up to the end of the sidewalk and was about to crash right into a large tow truck that was racing down the street.

At the last second, she turned the bike a sharp left. A screech escaped her lips when the sudden turn brought the bike crashing into the ground. She skidded off and tumbled right into the street. She heard a small crack and pain shot through her ankle. There was also a searing sensation agains the cheek that lay flat against the dull pavement. Her head was pounding as she twitched, her legs completely tangled with the bike.

She pushed her hands into the asphalt, weakly pushing herself up. Some blood dripped onto the ground from her cheek and she knew she’d be riddled with bruises by tomorrow. She was only vaguely aware that the van had come to a screeching halt. Suddenly, she heard footsteps.

She peered up, rather disgruntled from the position she was in. Her entire body had scratches and skid marks. She peered up in horror, just in time to recognize Eddie Munson as he leaned over. His face was masked by his soft curls, and she couldn’t see his expression.

His hands looped under her armpits and he lifted, grunting slightly. A fearful, pained scream escaped her lips as she was lifted from the wreck. Her hair fell in her face, and she let out a grumble of agony when the bike was untangled from the wreckage.

At least one ankle was twisted. However, she wasn’t even given the chance to test it out, because Eddie wasn’t just helping her up. He was holding her limp form and making his way to the other side of the car. Even with how tattered and distressed she was, she connected the dots the moment he set he her against the car and went to open the passenger door.

Her eyes widened and she could barely move. But it didn’t matter so much as to what she couldn’t do. It was more so of what she had to do that impacted her. Both ankles tung from her weight and she almost crumbled right then and there. But when Eddie hummed, completely absorbed in opening the passenger side door and pushing some things off the seat, she attempted to limp away.

She let out a gasp of pain as she moved her feet, which drew Eddie’s attention back to her. He abandoned what he was doing, wide-eyed and worried. “Fuck! Y/n, doll, you’re hurt —!”

It didn’t take much effort to reach out and grasped at her. He grabbed her shoulder. A scream bubbled in Y/n’s throat, loud enough to be heard several blocks down. She continued to scream at the top of her lungs, even when it was muted by Eddie’s hand. His long, black nails dug into her injured cheek. Y/n pawed at him as he forcefully started pulling her back toward the van.

Tears sprung from her eyes again. Eddie kept mumbling nonsense that Y/n didn’t particularly want to hear.

“Just cooperate, dammit! I - I need to —“

“Hey, freak, the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Eddie seized up, but Y/n sure as hell didn’t. She tried to pull his hands away, and yet they only tightened. That was, until her vision cleared and she realized standing before her, was the chief of police, Sheriff Hopper. He had a gun pulled from his hip and had it trained on Eddie’s figure, even Y/n blocked most of it.

Eddie squealed girlishly. A small crowd from the nearby houses  formed, and disturbed mothers gasped, holding their urbanized children to them. Y/n had never been happier to be in the richer side of town, because clearly, that was where to be when someone attempted to kidnap you.

“Let her go! Hands in the air and against the vehicle, now!” Hopper demanded, twisting the safety off.

Eddie could not have been more terrified. He exchanged wary glances between the officer and the love of his life. It was just a misunderstanding. He was helping her —!

Y/n bit down on his hand, and Eddie yelped. Immediately, the woman pushed herself free. She collapsed to her knees instantly, though, and despite the mark on his hand, Eddie’s brain blanked and he went to reach for her. That was, until he woke back up to the cocking of the gun.

“H - hey, man, it's not what you think!” Eddie pleaded, pale in the face. He raised his hands instantly, occasionally glancing at Y/n, who was desperately crawling to the officer’s side. His heart burned with regret. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. “I was just helping her —“

“I said, up against the vehicle! Now!”

With Hopper’s free hand, he reached onto his waist and pulled out a walkie-talkie. He pressed the button, eyes not abandoning Eddie’s trembling form as he did, in fact, press himself to the vehicle. Eddie’s mind blanked as he tried to think of an escape. A deep frown was etched into his frazzled features.

“Hey. We need an ambulance and another dispatch up here at Locust Street. Now.”

With that said, he reattached it. His glare bore into Eddie’s back. The man was desperately trying to think of anything that would convince him. “Y/n, please! Tell him it ain’t what he thinks it, uh, is?”

The officer grunted in disbelief. He lowered the gun when he took the final step and fished around for handcuffs. Eddie’s brain short-circuited in that moment and he brought his elbow into Hopper’s face. The man released a low yelp, caught off guard by Eddie’s sudden defiance. But Eddie didn’t just stop there. He swerved toward the officer and pushed his chest.

Hopper wasn’t letting himself get pushed around that easily, though. He let out another curse, not moving an inch when Eddie pushed him. Instead, he grabbed his frail wrists. One hand reached for the hilt of his gun and he removed it, about to shoot.

However, Eddie threw his entire weight toward the large man. Hopper lost his footing. He shot, but the bullet ricocheted off the large van. Eddie let out another yelp as both of them tumbled to the ground. Y/n screamed again, but by then, a concern mother appeared beside her and helped her up and away to safety.

Eddie let out a growl and punched the cop. Hopper, though, forced them to roll until  Eddie was the one pushed to the ground. Hopper punched the man in the face, blood spewing from his nose. Eddie’s arms flailed until his hand located the gun. 

He always said he’d never end up like his father, but he’d do anything for love’s namesake. He knew how to use the gun. And, as Hopper’s fist continued to punch the lying hell out of Eddie’s face, he realized if he didn’t shoot, he’d end up in prison. And as romantic as the idea was, with how resistant and misunderstand Y/n was to his affection, he doubted they’d have some jail-themed wedding.

He dug the gun into Hopper’s waist, and realization dawned on the man’s expression. He swiped at it, but Eddie shot. And instead of being deadly, the bullet lodged into his leg. Hopper let out a groan and Eddie was able to push him off with ease.

As Eddie stood, he still had the gun in his grip. He wanted to shoot the cop again, but Hopper was writhing in pain. He turned the gun to the fearful, ushering mother and Y/n. They watched, and Y/n tried her best to push her body in front of the mother, but she insisted. 

However, Eddie never shot. Instead, his ears peaked when, in the distance, he heard the squeals of police sirens. He grit his teeth and backed up as far as he could until he arrived at the driver’s seat. From then on, he stepped inside and slammed both doors. 

The adrenaline hadn’t worn off yet, but the fear still sank back in. There was a change in plans. He started the ignition, and as a scream bubbled from the love of his life’s throat, he sped off to god knows where.

Y/n thought that there was no way in hell Eddie would get away. But the officers were far more concerned with saving their fallen comrade and getting Y/n to a hospital for her wounds, so that left Eddie to his lonesome.

A few days later, Y/n knew Eddie escaped as she watched the hospital television. She could tell because the cops had located his van in the middle of the woods, with no Eddie, no gun, nothing. He was on the run. But, at least with his name on the news, Y/n could only hope that meant he couldn’t get to her.

Weeks passed. Y/n felt safer. People had given her condolences and she felt like she stood out. But nobody had ever treated her cruelly. Even when Patrick took a few days off school, she hardly suspected anything had happened except the common flu. 

No more letters, no more gifts, no more stalker watching her every move.

It was like a weight had been taken off her shoulders.

There was a pep in her step on the bright, sunny morning. Her friends greeted her as she made her way to her locker. She would’ve felt worse, but Hopper had recovered seemingly faster than she had. She was freed.

At least, that was until she swung open her locker and from inside, a very ornate letter fell out.

Fear struck through her heart all of her sudden. She watched as it fluttered to the ground. However, she’d never received an actual envelope. It was always a single sheet of paper. And, through the envelope, she could see brilliant pinks and reds. It was an actual card.

It had to be from her friends.

She shakily shoved her backpack into her locker and leaned down, picking it off the ground. She just had to know. She peeled open the letter, slowly, dread consuming her.

It was from a friend.

It was from a friend.

It was from…

She pulled it out, allowing the envelope to fall to the ground. Nobody else was paying her any heed. Nobody would suspect anything, even if it was from Eddie Munson.

She examined the front and back. The front had several hearts with expressions, the largest one with a wounded leg. In cartoonish letters, it spelled,’ Get better soon!’. On the back was nothing but a Hallmark copyright, a solid red color. She felt relieved. It seemed not as suspicious.

Maybe it was delivered for Patrick. They’d been growing closer lately.

And then, she opened it.

All of her hopes were dashed because she didn’t need to even read the letter to know it was Eddie. It was his familiar chicken scratch handwriting, although it was shakier than usual. There were other ornate details in the card, but her focus primarily set on the words he’d written.

‘Y/n, doll, love of my life. I’m sorry things turned south like this. I’m just happy your injuries have healed. I can’t express in words how sorry I am. I just didn’t explain as well as I should’ve. I’m not dangerous. I love you truly. I’d never hurt you! I know what they say around town and on the news, but I only ever wanted to be loved. Especially by someone as perfect as you.

‘This whole damned town has forced my hand. None of this was supposed to happen. You were supposed to listen to what I said, not just hear. You interpreted everything wrong!!! I don’t blame you, though. You didn’t do anything wrong. I get how you misunderstood everything.

‘On that note, though, I’ve had to resort to more drastic measures. I’m supposed to be by your side, kissing you and holding you by your locker before our shared class in pre-calc - yes, we shared that class -, but instead, I have a ransom that only you can fulfill.

‘See, with me as we speak, I’m holding Patrick - I truly hate his guts, you know - hostage. I assume you’ve heard, although I haven’t been able to keep up with the news when I’m more focused on keeping an eye on you. And you can always try to call the cops, but there wouldn’t be enough time.

‘In exchange for Patrick’s life, you have to meet up so we can disappear from this wretched place. I have a gun ready to shoot him as we speak. And I know you always walk into school at the same time now since you aren’t trying to catch me placing the letters inside your locker — Oh, sorry, I was supposed to keep this short, you know?’

By then, there was barely any space left of the card, despite how tiny he’d tried to make his handwriting.

‘Well, be here by eight-thirty sharp or there’ll be a bullet through this asshole’s head, okay? Meet me beyond the football field in the woods. Keep walking until you find a picnic table and wait. I’ll know if you bring anyone with you.

‘I’ll see you soon. I miss you so so much.

‘With love, your Eddie.’

Y/n should’ve been screaming and crying. But, instead, she knew she’d cave. She was paralyzed none the less, but she’d cave. As her mouth went dry, she peered over her shoulder at one of the school clocks.

It was eight-fifteen. Classes started at eight-thirty. Eddie was smart. Smarter than the erratic, delusional man was taken for, especially considering how sloppy his violence was and how shitty his grades were rumored to be. Her heart sank in realization. Cops could never reach in time, and Eddie would hear the said cops in the distance. She was left with no choice.

She pushed the envelope into her locker, stone-faced and defeated. Her shoulder drooped and her eyes became glossy. She would honestly prefer death to being kidnapped for the sake of her pride. Pain was worse and Eddie surely had a sadistic side if he was willing to kill.

As she slammed the locker and turned, she jumped. Max was there, concern etched in her features. She tilted her head, noticing her friend’s jumpiness. “Hey. Is everything okay?”

Y/n eagerly nodded her head. “Um, yes. It’s just… cramps. I’m going off to the bathroom. Actually, is Patrick okay? I haven’t seen him around school for days.”

Max quirked a brow. “You mean that basketball player you’re friends with?”

“Yeah.”

Her face fell and she strained a smile. The woman couldn’t meet her eyes, and Y/n realized. Somehow amidst her obsessed news-watching addiction, she’d missed it. Patrick was missing and Eddie Munson had taken him.

“I’m surprised you didn’t know… I’m sorry. I’m sure they’ll find him.”

Y/n’s eyes couldn’t help but flicker to the ticking clock. The high school was large, but not too large. But, as the clock ticked to eight-twenty, she knew once she made it through the front entrance, she’d have to run. She couldn’t risk being even a few seconds late. In her head, she could already imagine poor Patrick’s body bleeding out in the middle of the woods.

Max nodded her off, saying some good-bye word. But Y/n could barely hear from how fast the blood was rushing through her body. She sent one last tight smile the woman’s way before dashing down the hallway. People dodged and made way not asking questions. They were too tired to give a shit about some random student that had an urgent pace.

She burst through the front doors. The cool summer breeze hit her and shivers rolled down her spine. Some people called to her, but their voices went through one ear and out the other. She followed the outer walls. As she continued, less and less people were around. And by the time she arrived at the football field it was completely deserted.

She paused as she passed through the large gate. She saw what Eddie meant. Across the field it opened up to the wilderness. There was but a meek wooden fence with one entrance into the wilderness. She’d heard of Eddie’s notorious drug deals, and this was probably where it happened.

Yes. Eddie Munson was a drug dealer. And that meant he could get any drug he needed for… kidnapping.

She almost felt embarrassed by the prospect. It was like she had a big head for thinking that anyone would ever want to kidnap her. Hell, it was an amazing occurrence as it was when she got her first love letter in her locker. Her life had been mostly void of romance. Well, if ‘romance’ was even the right word.

She started crossing the football field. She wanted to preserve her stamina since she was sure it couldn’t be any later than eight-twenty-five. To her, it was like she was walking down the prison hallways to death row. Her inevitable doom. And as she spaced out, feet doing their own thing, she couldn’t help but reflect on her life. 

Nobody ever thinks they’re going to be the one on the news. The victim of a crime. People live their day-to-day lives thinking that it would never be them. They weren’t the ones that would be robbed or attacked or murdered or kidnapped. And yet, somehow, Y/n had been the one to attract Eddie Munson’s attention. Not one of the popular cheerleaders, not the pretty gossip girls, not the talented artists, not the musicians or scientists or anything that Eddie would’ve been attracted to.

Instead, it was her.

She crossed into the wilderness. It was even more silent even with the occasional scuttling of squirrels and chirps of birds. Her footsteps seemingly echoed as she mushed onto the slightly damp grass and small twigs. She kept walking, only vaguely aware of the obvious trail that led over a short hill.

She kept walking. After she passed over the hill, she saw it. The dreaded picnic table. Her heart stopped and she was quick to survey the area. She paused, listening. She heard nothing. She wondered if she was alone, or if Eddie had been lying and didn’t even have Patrick with him.

However, Patrick was missing. And that was his handwriting.

As she went over to the picnic table and slowly sat, eyes glancing around wildly, her mind churned with an explanation. Was there another picnic table deeper in? Was Eddie waiting for the direct chimed of the bell or his watch? Was he waiting for others to show up, or for sirens to call?

She gulped. Her hands enveloped her upper body in a hug that should’ve given her an ounce of comfort. But, instead, she sat there, trembling. It was supposed to be good. Eddie Munson was supposed to have given up because she was too much trouble to pursue.

But perhaps her hopefulness had been naive from the start.

Snap.

She swiftly turned, eyes wide. Standing there, body barely peeking out from a large tree, was Eddie Munson. He had that same damned expression from when he confessed. Slightly flushed cheeks, a small shy grin, and hands that were fiddling with his coat.

The only difference was everything else. His hair was wilder than usual. He had a certain odor to him and some of his clothes were torn. He clearly hadn’t washed an ounce of his boy in a long time, clothes included. Even his glinting silver rings had dirt smudged on them. In one hand, he held the same pistol he stole from Sheriff Hopper weeks, hell, maybe even months ago. And, slightly peeking out of his jean pocket, Y/n noticed a knife.

Y/n seized up. Maybe that was her chance to scream and run for help, but Patrick couldn’t die for her sake. And Eddie knew that. There was more confidence in his walk as he approached the picnic table, and his eyes flitted hungrily over her entire form. 

Y/n felt so violated.

Eddie stopped at the opposite side. He slid into the seat although he still had his arms withdrawn and the gun pulled back, a lingering threat that she wasn’t going to get away with any attempted attacks. Eddie tilted his head, a dreamy, lovesick haze coating his dark eyes.

“I just knew you’d show. You’re too much of an angel to let poor ol’ Patrick die. I’ve missed you, doll.”

His words slurred, and he took his time. He didn’t stutter was much. And he hoed with confidence and joy. He was anxious, but it was the residual effect from being in the presence of his ‘crush.’ Y/n’s skin crawled, and as a few tears spilled from her eyes, a frown tugged at her lips.

This time, she could actually meet Eddie’s intense stare. There wasn’t any getting out of the situation. And there was no reason to be shy around a man she’d come to loathe and fear so very deeply. She fiddled with the hem of her shirt in anticipation.

“Where’s Patrick? Let him go.”

Eddie’s face fell ever so slightly as he glanced her up and down. “We reunite after all this time, and you’re only here for Patrick. I get it, doll. You’re scared. Maybe you hate me. But you shouldn’t!” He waved his arms wildly above his head and Y/n flinched. Eddie noticed though, trying to regain his composure. He cleared his throat. “Um, well, listen. We can clear the air later, doll, but we don’t have much time to waste. Uh, I gotta admit something, though.”

Y/n’s face fell even further and she gulped. She wiped away her hot tears, not having the voice to say anything.

“I was kinda worried you wouldn’t show at all. And, like, I had all these drugs that I was pretty much put out of business for since, uh, I’m kinda a criminal now… Well, anyways, I was a little anxious and angry and I took it out on Patrick just a little. Just yesterday, actually, since I was having a hard time sleeping and all that. And, like, he was scared and I was angry and… I took out a sort of insurance policy on the guy. To make sure, no matter what, even if I got caught, I’d take him down with me.”

Y/n’s heart stopped and she gripped at her mouth. A sob broke through and she wasn’t sure what to do. She was scared shitless. Was Patrick already dead?

“Now, before you get on my case about all this, he isn’t actually dead. He just… will be in about a, uh, few hours. Maybe if you cooperate the police can swoop him up and attempt to save him. I don’t really know. I actually, uh doped him up with some Batrachotoxin. That shit’s what the Indians used in poison darts. It was only a little, though, I swear, doll! It’s slow acting since I only doped him up with some. Makes it easier to transport him with him not struggling, actually.”

Y/n felt like she was going to faint. She wanted to scream. But,, this deep in the woods, away from where the classes were being held, would anyone even hear? Or was her fate decided the moment she agreed to show?

But, if there was even a chance of Patrick’s survival, she’d take it.

“Oh, come on,” Eddie tittered, waving his hand dismissively. “We should probably get going now, huh? You aren’t looking too good. Believe it or not, chloroform smells pretty sweet and taste even sweeter. So, uh, it’ll be a pleasant experience, ‘kay?”

“Please…”

Eddie’s eyes widened as Y/n finally opened her mouth. She couldn’t help but rise to her feet. She stumbled out of the picnic table, but Eddie didn’t make a single move. He knew that she knew that if she ran off, he’d just go over to the guy and finish him off, and he’d make his grand escape. He was offended none the less that she wanted distance, though.

Eddie stood up, almost seeming terrified. Regretful. Y/n noticed this, and as Eddie pocketed the gun and instead pulled out a bottle and cloth, she couldn’t help but beg further.

“Eddie, please! Patrick doesn’t deserve this. I - I don’t deserve this! A - and if you don’t do this, I promise I won’t tell. You can live your merry life on the run, figure something out, a - and —“

Eddie sent her a glare and she clammed up. All anxiety and playfulness dissipated into pure irritation. He sighed, and as he soaked the cloth with chloroform casually, he shrugged. His age was glued to her frozen, trembling figure. “Doll, I’d rather die than leave you. Don’t you get that? I can’t live without you. I love you. You think I want to do this? No. It’s just ended up this way, uh, ‘cause you didn’t accept my feelings. And that’s fine, so don’t feel bad! But, uh, I ain’t giving up on you that easily.”

Y/n wished so badly to run. Patrick was fucked anyway, right? He’d die in a few hours. She doubted any surgery could prevent his demise. And yet, as Eddie stalked toward her, all anger morphing into joy just from being within her presence, she waited.

But then, when he was but a few feet away, it was like fear took control and she turned. A scream tore at her lungs. Her legs burned almost instantly. However, as she attempted to make her escape, an arm looped around her waist and another flew to her mouth. 

Except, instead of a hand, it was a damp cloth. And it did smell sweet. 

She struggled, but Eddie was stronger than before. He was roughed up for sure but he must’ve been working out for this. It terrified her. As she twisted and turned in his hold, it was like her energy was fading. Not as fast as Eddie would’ve hoped, but also not as slow as Y/n wanted. She pawed at his leather coat.

Her head was pressed next to Eddie’s, and his hushes echoed in her ear. “Just calm down, doll. Everything’ll be okay. I promise. W - we can escape to fuckin’ Canada or something, get a job, get a house, get married, have a few kids maybe… O - or not! It’s totally cool if kids aren’t your thing. I - I just wanna make you happy, doll. I swear.”

As Eddie continued to rant, seemingly not having an off button, it hit her. A bout of drowsiness had snuck up on her and she could barely keep her eyes open. Her struggling ceased since she needed what strength she had solely for keeping herself standing and leaning against Eddie’s body. He was warm. The chloroform smelled nice.

Her thoughts even slowed and her mind blanked. She kept breathing in the scent, and her eyes slowly shut. Even so, though, Eddie’s hold didn’t falter. Before she lost conscious, though, she attempted to reach for the gun at his hip. And yet her fingers did nothing but twitch in dismay.

Eddie chuckled his arm around her waist loosening. Instead, he reached up, running his fingers through her hair briefly. 

“Aw would you look at that, doll,” he cooed.

He yielded no response and Y/n’s head slumped into he crook of his neck. Eddie’s heartbeat erratically, and he couldn’t help but take in a large sniff of her hair. It smelled so good. He’d only ever been able to do that when she was asleep. And yet, having her in his arms, so very close to him, was like heaven.

“God, Y/n. I love you. I’m so lucky.”

#yandere #x reader #x y/n #self insert #yandere slashers #yandere x reader #eddie stranger things #stranger things s4 #yandere stranger things #stranger things #netflixs #show #eddie x reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #yandere eddie munson #stranger things season four #stranger things season 4

[padfootagain]

Something Good (X)

Chapter 10 : Chocolate Muffins

Hello, lovelies! Here is a new chapter for my Ben Barnes series!

Some more London cuteness! Ben struggles with his feelings, and we also have some Sally cuteness!

Hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Ben Barnes x Reader

Warnings: none! Slow burn, professor AU.

Summary: Coming out of a divorce and trying to get used to being a single mom, while teaching your classes at University, you thought your life could not get more complicated than it already is. But when you are asked to take care of the theatre club with the colleague that you really can’t get along with, you realize that everything can still get ten times more complicated in your life. And when you start actually liking Professor Barnes, the troubles only grow exponentially…

Word Count: 2688

Masterlist for the series – Ben Barnes’s Masterlist – Main Masterlist

Second busy day at the British Library and you were in desperate need of a break and a large, very large coffee.

But you hesitated when you saw him bent over a piece of manuscript, a focused frown on his face, his glasses a little lopsided but he didn’t seem to have noticed.

He seemed too busy, you didn’t want to disturb him. You were about to turn around, but Ben seemed to have sensed your presence near his table, as he turned towards you and whispered your name.

There were a dozen of people working in the large room, all of them bent over ancient and precious documents. In the working room, perfectly lit, perfectly organized, pristine, there was barely any sound, only the tapping of fingers upon laptops, the occasional delicate turn of a page and the hurried movement of pens moving across notebooks.

You turned around, smiling at Ben, and he waited for you to come closer to speak again, keeping his voice down. It sounded deeper than usual, almost hoarse, as he whispered.

“Do you need anything?” he asked, looking up at you.

You smiled, refraining your urge to straighten his pair of glasses on his cute nose.

“Nothing, don’t worry. You’re busy.”

“It’s alright. Can I help you with anything?”

But you shook your head.

“I was just tired of working, and wanted to grab a coffee. But you’re busy, it’s okay.”

“No!”

His voice wasn’t so low anymore as he stopped you when you started to turn away. He blushed hard as several people turned frowning faces towards him.

“I… I mean… I could use a break too, actually.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, let’s grab a coffee.”

He was pathetic. Absolutely, utterly pathetic. Because he was, indeed, busy. But he would have dropped anything just to spend five minutes around a coffee with you…

Pathetic…

But then, you grinned, bright and welcoming, and even excited. And it was worth losing some working time. It was even worth him losing his dignity.

You walked quietly outside the room, and Ben offered to get some Starbucks, as he had spotted the coffeeshop nearby, and with your growing headache, you accepted without a second thought.

“So, any interesting details today?” he asked, tightening his hold on his coat as he stepped outside, the last days of October bringing a stinging wind to London.

“Quite a few! I’m going to need more time to work on some of the crossed-out lines, some are barely readable. And the hurried handwriting is difficult too. But it’s definitely easier to work on the real thing than some scans, so it helps. But I needed a break. My eyes are so sore after spending so much time trying to decipher some messy handwriting!”

He chuckled.

“Yeah, I get that. Same here. But I’ve also noticed some very small annotations that I hadn’t been able to identify with the scans, and I think I’m finally heading towards the right meaning for them.”

“Really? Awesome!”

“I’m not quite sure yet, but… If I’m right, it seems to fit the theory I’m defending in this article I’m working on. The one I told you about yesterday.”

“That would be amazing!”

“Would you mind taking a look if you have a moment? I don’t want to get too excited on my own and then realize I was just… over-analysing everything.”

“Of course, I’ll take a look tomorrow if you want.”

“Thank you.”

You had barely noticed that you had been walking at all when you reached the coffeeshop. You joined the line to get an order, and decided to get some snack as well.

“Oh… I think I’ll get something with chocolate. Maybe a muffin. Muffins are always a safe choice,” you babbled away, but Ben kept on listening, and he actually didn’t seem to mind that you were speaking your thoughts without any kind of filter, on the contrary.

“Chocolate is a safe choice too,” he commented.

“Agreed! Agreed!” you frantically nodded.

“Now, I want to have a snack too…” Ben heaved a sigh. “You have a terrible influence on me.”

“Are you merely noticing it now?”

You both chuckled at that, but it was soon your turn to order, and you headed for a small table with your pastries and your tall coffees.

Ben straightened his glasses, pushed them up his nose, before looking at you again. You smiled at the gesture without noticing. A habit of his…

And he noticed the way you spun your mug in your hand a few times before drinking, you always did. A habit of yours…

You looked so pretty today… it was highly unfair… this shirt matched your eyes too well…

He pushed the thought away. He needed to remain focused, he needed to remain professional.

You were colleagues. You worked together. It would be too complicated. And you were a single-mother, this was absolute madness. He was too much of a mess to handle all the responsibilities that would come with dating someone in general, but a mother… no. No, that was too risky. Too much love to give away…

He cleared his throat, bent the conversation towards work again, and it lasted almost until your cups were empty and cakes fully eaten. But you were interrupted by the buzzing of your cell phone coming from your handbag.

“Oh, it’s my mom, I need to pick it up,” you apologized, but Ben nodded with a warm smile.

You answered the call, and hesitated to walk outside the coffeeshop, when you noticed that it was a videocall. You waved and grinned at the sight of your daughter’s face appearing on the screen.

“Mummy!” she cried in excitement, making you laugh, and even though it was impolite, you completely forgot about the world around you and remained sitting, oblivious of the large smile that formed on Ben’s face on the other side of the table.

He rested his chin in his palm, and his gaze and smile grew dreamy as you spoke, but you didn’t notice, and neither did he.

“Hello, my little peanut!” you cooed. “How are you today?”

“I’m painting with granny! Look!”

She held her drawing in front the phone so you would see, and you heard your mother fondly chuckle behind the phone.

“Those are very pretty!” you congratulated your daughter.

“This one is for you, mummy! And I’ve made more flowers too for daddy! Look!”

She held another sheet of paper where you recognized the shape of flowers painted by clumsy children’s hands. You were still grinning.

“These are very pretty too!”

“Do you think daddy will like them?”

“Oh, yes! Of course, he will!”

“And I made these too, look!”

She showed you a couple of other paintings, that grew more chaotic as she had clearly lost her focus at this point.

“They’re pretty too! Did you have fun with granny?”

“Yes! It was fun! Are you having fun too, mummy?”

“Yes, quite!” you nodded, and you didn’t really acknowledge the way your thoughts drifted towards the previous evening, spent with Ben, but your mind wandered there all the same.

“Are you working?”

You suddenly remembered where you were, and looked up at Ben. He gave you a grin, before blushing fiercely.

It wasn’t polite at all to listen to people’s conversations…

But you grinned back at him, clearly amused by his reaction.

“I am actually taking a break with a colleague.”

“Who is it?” she asked with excitement.

Your daughter really was too damn curious…

“His name is Ben.”

“Is he a friend?”

“Yes, he’s a friend,” you nodded without hesitation, and Ben couldn’t control the way warmth spread across his chest and all the way up to redden his cheeks as you called him a friend.

After all, a few weeks before, you were enemies… but now…

He couldn’t refrain his grin.

“Can I say hello?” Sally asked, and you smiled fondly at her.

“Sure!”

You turned your phone around towards Ben, who smiled warmly at the little girl on the phone.

Cute pigtails, pink t-shirt with a unicorn. An adorable face and a look of mischief in her eyes. He noticed at once how much she looked just like you.

He was fond of her as soon as he saw her.

“Hello, Sally!” he waved, his smile widening. “I’m Ben!”

“Hello, Ben!” she waved too, a little shier now. “I’ve painted some flowers today!”

“Really? That sounds fantastic!”

“Do you want to see?”

“Of course! Please, show me!”

Sally grinned, before showing Ben her flowers.

He whistled.

“Wow! That’s some very pretty flowers! Are they for your mum?”

“This one, yes!” she said, showing the one filled with pink flowers. “Because she likes pink! But this one is for daddy!” she added, showing the one filled with orange and yellow flowers. “Because he likes yellow.”

“They’re gonna love them, they’re very pretty!”

“What’s your favourite colour?”

“Red,” Ben answered without thinking, a little taken aback by the question, but playing along still.

Sally nodded, apparently content with the answer.

“And then I’ve done some Modern Art, look!”

Ben tried to hide the amusement on his face, but when he looked up at you behind the phone, he couldn’t refrain a chuckle as you mouthed told you, Modern Art, with a dramatic eye-roll.

Indeed, the following paintings were messy, to say the least, but he complimented Sally all the same.

You decided that it was enough time spent bothering Ben, although he didn’t mind at all, in reality. He found your daughter adorable.

“Mummy! When are you coming back?” Sally asked as you turned the phone towards you again.

“In four days, angel.”

Sally seemed to think for a second, but then she nodded.

“Yes, because today is Tuesday, and tomorrow is Wednesday,” she babbled away, counting the days on her tiny fingers. “And then it’s Thursday, and after that, Friday. And then it will be Saturday, and you said you were coming back on Saturday. Because Saturday is the weekend and mummies don’t work on the weekend.”

“Exactly! I’ll call you back this evening before you go to bed, angel. Okay?”

Sally nodded, but frowned and narrowed her eyes as she seemed to notice something on the screen.

“Mummy? Are you eating?”

You chuckled.

“It’s teatime,” you argued.

Sally’s eyes grew round.

“Are you eating a muffin?”

“Yes…”

She turned to her grandmother, who chuckled at the sight off-camera.

“Granny! Can we eat a muffin too?”

“If you want to, angel,” answered your mother, without trying to argue.

“Mom… don’t let her eat too many sweets!”

“Oh, relax! Enjoy your afternoon with your handsome colleague, and let me worry about your daughter’s snacks.”

“Mom!” you hissed, trying to hide from Ben, who was blushing but had a cocky smile on his lips now.

“Granny! Hurry! We need to go get muffins! MUFFINS!”

“Say goodbye to your mum first, angel.”

Sally reappeared on the screen and waved at you with a toothy grin.

“Bye mummy! I love you!”

“I love you too, angel! Be nice with your granny!”

You bade goodbye to your mother too, and ended the call.

You looked up at Ben with a shy smile.

“Sorry for the interruption,” you apologized, but Ben was laughing.

“Don’t worry. I don’t mind. Your daughter is cute.”

“She is.”

“She looks just like you.”

Your smile turned into a proud grin.

“Yeah, she kind of does.”

“She seems as chaotic as you, too,” he joked.

“She’s worse, trust me! You wouldn’t survive five minutes with her.”

“You’re forgetting that I’m the best uncle in the country.”

“Ha, yes, my bad! I’ll give you ten minutes then, before you start having an emotional breakdown.”

You both laughed.

“She seems quite amazing, actually,” Ben added, growing more serious again.

You weren’t sure why your heart filled with fondness under your ribcage, but it did. You nodded.

“She is. She truly is. I’m very lucky.”

Ben was about to speak again when a woman stopped by your table.

“Ben?”

He looked up, and he seemed surprised, but not in a bad way.

“Maeve? Hi!”

“It’s really you! I haven’t seen you in ages!”

Ben stood up to gave the woman a hug while you sipped on your coffee, waiting, quite uncomfortable now.

You couldn’t help but notice that she was extremely beautiful, and you weren’t sure why you didn’t like that fact, just like you didn’t like the way she kept on holding onto Ben’s arms when he pulled away from the hug.

“I didn’t know you were back in town!” she went on, grinning.

“I’m just staying for a week. I’m working at the British Library, for a paper.”

“Oh, I see.”

She seemed to finally notice your presence, and Ben introduced you. You shook hands with Ben’s friend, before she turned her attention back to him again.

“I’m glad you’ve found someone else, you deserve it…”

You frowned, and Ben fiercely blushed, as he shook his head.

“Oh, no… Y/N is a colleague. We… we’re working together.”

“Oh, sorry! I thought…” she apologized, turning to your again.

“Just friends,” you nodded.

Ben’s eyes lingered on you, and he couldn’t fully hide his disappointment. He was happy to hear this title earlier but now it sounded… limiting. Full of barriers.

Just friends…

“Right, well I… I hope you’ll find someone,” Maeve turned to Ben again. “After what happened with Julia I… I’ve never really had the occasion to tell you that I’m really sorry…”

“Yeah… huh… thanks…”

Ben was fidgety all of a sudden, gaze fleeing, trying to get away. You wondered who Maeve was talking about.

His ex-girlfriend, you guessed. And he seemed pretty upset by the mere mention of her name.

You felt saddened by the discomfort on Ben’s features.

“But you seem to be doing fine,” he said, diverting the conversation.

“I’m great, yeah! I saw Garrett the other day!”

“Nice!”

But Ben was growing more and more uncomfortable by the minute, and when he glanced over at you, you could only offer him a shy smile.

“Well, it was nice seeing you again,” Ben smiled, trying to politely escape. “But we’ve got to get back to work, we were merely taking a break.”

“Oh, sure! Have a nice afternoon, then! It was nice seeing you again! Maybe we can grab some coffee or something!”

“Sure! Why not!”

But he reached for his coat already, and you caught on without a word, standing and wrapping your scarf around your neck too.

You hurried after Ben outside, and he heaved a relieved sigh once he was in the street.

“Sorry about that,” he apologized with a sheepish expression all over his features.

“No worries. These are always uncomfortable encounters,” you reassured him.

“Yeah… quite… Still, I’m sorry. You didn’t even have time to finish your muffin.”

“You mean… this muffin?”

You grinned, taking proudly the piece of muffin you had left from the pocket of your vest, that you had wrapped into a napkin. Ben let out a laugh.

“You’re unbelievable,” he shook his head with fondness.

“It’s a muffin!”

“And a chocolate muffin!”

“Exactly! It can’t go to waste!”

You took a bite as you started walking towards your workplace again.

“Still, I’m sorry. It was a bit weird. But she… she’s one of my ex’s friends so…”

“Right,” you nodded knowingly.

“She’s nice but…”

“She was on her side of the relationship.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess you can put it that way.”

“You’re okay?” you asked, your voice more gentle.

“Yeah, yeah… just…”

Ben cleared his throat.

“Tough break-up,” he merely answered, and you didn’t insist. He felt grateful for it.

When you started the conversation again on a new topic, he couldn’t refrain a fond smile. He was merry again when you reached the library.

A strange power of yours, without a doubt.

He almost wanted to tell you about Julia. He felt like he could trust you with this part of his life.

But then, he remembered your words, the ones that stung a little too much.

Just friends…

He almost wanted to tell you. Almost…

**********************

Taglist : @reg-arcturus-black @sergeantbuckybarnes @wolfmoonmusic @idek-what-to-put @kpicard

#ben barnes #ben barnes x you #ben barnes x reader #ben barnes x y/n #ben barnes fanfiction #ben barnes series #ben barnes fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #writing #series

[bnnywngs]

Wei Wuxian sighed dreamily to himself as he finished his letter to Lan Zhan, his feet kicking happily against the floor. He felt giddy, so many happy emotions inside his little heart. After rolling on the floor for a while and still with blushing cheeks, he finally sealed the letter ready to send.

On his way out, he found his shijie with a serene smile and a letter on her own hands.

"To the peacock, shijie?" Wei Wuxian asked, grinning.

"A-Xian...." Jiang Yanli shook her head slightly "Yes, it's for Jin-gongzi. Are you sending that for your Lan Zhan?"

Wei Wuxian almost let out a happy giggle, but held on, looking coy "Yeah."

"Jiang-guniang! Jiang-guniang! Yu-furen is asking for you!" a disciple yelled from a distance, waving high to get attention.

"Oh. Thank you!" she waved back "Oh, no. A-Xian, could you send this for me? I don't want to make mother wait."

"Sure, shijie! Count on me!"

Jiang Yanli chuckled and patted his shoulder before walking away.

A day later, Jin Zixuan was excited to open the letter although he pretended otherwise. He walked quickly to his room to have privacy and sat excitedly by his table.

He opened the letter.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!"

Jin Zixuan let the letter fall from his hands, too shocked to do anything. Because inside wasn't Jiang-guniang pretty handwriting or flowery words. No. That was Wei Wuxian's barely readable scrawl saying...... Ugh he doesn't even want to remember what he read. What did he mean by love? Is he... Is Wei Wuxian a cutsleeve?! Was Lan Wangji?!

And not happy enough, behind the letter was another, smaller piece of paper with a drawing of two man (please let him pretend ignorance here, for his own sake) kissing!

He wants to cry. Maybe throw himself staircase down. Why is this happening to him?!

And in the silence of Cloud Recesses, Lan Wangji is softly laughing as he realizes that the letter in his hands is Jiang-guniang's for Jin-gongzi and not his Wei Ying's. It's definitely his lover's doing, Lan Wangji knows him enough to be certain.

Ah, how much he loves his Wei Ying.

He sealed the letter back and wrote a quick and small note about it, before going out to send it to Lanling, in hopes Jin-gongzi would send his letter to Gusu.

#everything is good and nothing hurts #no sunshot campaign #mdzs #mdzs headcanons #mdzs imagine #wangxian #wei wuxian #wei ying #lan wangji #lan zhan #xuanli #jin zixuan #jiang yanli #wwx is a genius and stupid #just wwx things #lan wangji is a simp #poor jzx saw something that wasn't for his innocent eyes #happy wei wuxian #my writing #bnnywngs writing #sorry for any typos

[meirimerens]

this is probably a very niche thing, but do you have any hand headcanons about pathologic characters? as in, who's right-handed or who's left-handed... or both.

YESSSSS OMG #YASSSSSSSS I DO! I DO IN FACT! IT'S NEVER TOO NICHE FOR ME HONEY #THOUGHTSHAVER

since most of the population is right-handed, imagine that if i'm not mentioning anyone they're either right-handed OR i don't have any particular headcanons. + you get some handwriting headcanons as well, a "buy one get one free" deal

Dankovsky: right-handed, relatively neat writing when he wants, otherwise you're getting that Doctor's Handwriting

Burakh: naturally right-handed, but he trained himself to be able to write with his left hand when he sprained his wrist age 14. his left-handed writing is kinda fucked up and it's obvious that's not his natural dominant hand, but if you squint and focus it's readable

Clara: ambidextrous, but she has very rarely written in her life so she doesn't even notice.

Andrey: naturally ambidextrous, has a left-handedness dominance

Peter: naturally ambidextrous, has a right-handedness dominance

(fun fact about ^ i headcanon that they always had to be sat together at school and for a while the teacher didn't understand why they didn't get any work done and then realized that's because the way they had them (peter on the left and andrey on the right) their elbows keep bumping in each other's so they just switched them around and it was fine)

Rubin: naturally left-handed but trained himself to be able to write/do other stuff with his right hand in case (it was for him a thing of like Discipline)

Lara: right-handed, relatively clean handwriting unless she starts losing it and scribbling

Grief: left-handed

Eva: right-handed, neat handwriting, likes to either embellish her lettering a lot or have very "dry", austere, almost worryingly simple shapes

Yulia: right-handed, a nervoussss writer, very tense grip on the pen, very low and slanted letters

Nina and Victoria: both ambidextrous

Katerina: naturally ambidextrous, her proficiency in both hands has been coming and going, and her morphine addiction has made her lose her grip and stability on her writing to the point it looks like chicken-scratch now

Capella: naturally ambidextrous, she uses mostly her right hand so far but will learn to use the left one more as well as she grows up + trains with stuff like sewing, embroidering, playing instruments,...

Khan: right-handed, relatively clean handwriting. it gets cleaner and more precise as he grows up because he goes on to go to college and learn languages, so he takes pride and effort into materializing the letters of languages other than his own like greek, arabic, any using the latin alphabet, etc.

Notkin: left-handed. he's barely literate because of his Shit Life Syndrome making his writing, when he tries, somewhat unintelligible. since he barely ever writes he has no muscle memory of how to hold his pen so his left hand doesn't smear the ink all over.

Catnip: right handed, clean and pretty handwriting, her grammar is kinda shit but she has an excuse. she's an orphan.

Dandy: right-handed, messyyyy handwriting, but his grasp on grammar's preddy good. paired with his sister ^ they make for Notkin's Redaction and Deciphering Team.

#yasssss!!!!!!

#''a very niche thing'' an anon asked me about how they smelled and i have headcanons for the shape of their teeth and of their ears. #you're in the right place don't even worry about it. #ring ring (answers) #anonymous #okay... #handwriting lore #dankovsky lore #burakh lore #clara lore #rubin lore #andrey lore #peter lore #lara lore #yulia lore #eva lore #notkin lore #khan lore #dandy lore #catnip lore #<- so i can actually remember. what i wrote

[babeyvenus]

A Trip Down Memory Lane

Derek x OC/Stiles & OC

Derek's curious about Sam's history with the boys.

TW: language, mentions of abuse, alcohol, and r*pe.

As Derek and Sam sat in her room looking over her notes, the older Hale was curious. He admired her neat note taking, the opposite of his own scribbled-cursive handwriting.

It was simple. Readable. Yet small…

He looked over an old notebook when she first took note of her abilities before he lost his alpha spark and a name caught his eyes.

Stiles.

In the journal, it read, "Stiles doesn't know about this yet. I don't know if I can control it. The voices. The meet ups in my dreams. He doesn't have answers for that. Neither does Derek or Scott. I doubt Deaton does either."

This is when she was freshly bitten, he thought.

Instead of being scared of what he thought, she was worried about Stiles. The only human in the pack. It was understandable.

He put down the notebook. "Hey," He gains her attention, her eyebrows raised in awareness.

"How'd you and the boys become friends?", he asked. She smiled, closing the book in front of her.

"That's kind of a big trip down memory lane.", she chuckled. "I guess it all happened after Jayson left."

He shook his head as he backed away. "You and Sam can stay here for all I care. Let her deal with your shit."

The older Wilson left the house with a slam from the front door, making his mother flinch from the loud noise.

Behind her, her daughter stood on the stairwell, visibly upset at her older brother leaving so abruptly and angrily, no less.

Immediately, she was brought to tears. Denise turned around to see Sam bubble eyed and her shoulders dropped as she cooed, holding her arms out for the girl.

Sam immediately ran into her mother's arms, silently weeping. Was it her fault? Was her father never returning? Did he really die? From what? Where was he? Why'd he leave to begin with?

Why was Jayson so upset?

The girl never understood it. Months after Jayson left, school began for the youngest Wilson.

She was new to Beacon Hills and everyone that has already lived here seemed to know each other already. She didn't want to just go up to anyone and intrude. It wasn't nice.

As she was introduced in her 3rd grade class, a sparkly eyed boy began to be intrigued by the girl while the rest of the class either snickered at the girl's shyness or ignored her as she found her seat. 

As lunch arrived, Sam sat alone, taking note of the cliques of the elementary school. Just barely taking a bite of her lunch, the boy from before rushed to her table, startling her with his boisterous personality.

"Hey! I'm Stiles! What's your name?", he introduced with a grin. Sam stood in shock for a moment. He… wanted to sit with her?

She looked around before looking at him who looked at her with a confused, but amused expression. "Yes, you.", he laughed. The girl smiles. "I'm Sam.", she says.

He grins anyways. "I knew that. Just wanted to see what you'd say. Anyways, this school's boring and everyone's already made friends because they're popular," He said, rolling his eyes before pausing.

His eyes widened in adoration before softening as his expression became almost lovesick. Sam followed his eyesight to see a redheaded girl. "Who's that?", she asked.

"Lydia Martin. The prettiest girl in Beacon Hills.", he said, dreamily. Sam looked at Stiles once more and snickered. "You have a crush.", she teased.

Stiles snapped out of his lovesick trance and frowned at the girl. "N-No, I don't! I just think she's pretty is all!", he says, his cheeks growing a bright red.

Sam giggled at his bashfulness. Stiles chuckled as well and the two began talking over lunch before returning to class once more.

Sam learned that there were more bullies than just mean girls. There was a main bully and his name was Jackson Whittemore.

He was popular because he was fast and apparently "funny". He attracted all the girls which boosted his little ego.

Sam didn't understand it. Neither did Stiles.

At the end of the day, Stiles decided he wanted to hang out some more with the Wilson girl and let her follow him home, promising that they'd play video games on the console he had gotten drok his mom.

As they walked in, Stiles announced himself to his mother who became aware of her son's new friend.

The woman smiled, softly scolding Stiles. "You can't just take everyone home. I have to make sure her mom knows she's here.", she says before turning to Sam.

"Do you know your mom's number?", she asked. Sam nodded and let the mother know before rushing off to play with Stiles.

Denise was worried once she got the call, but learning that her daughter received a friend on her first day of school, it was one less thing to worry about.

From then on, the two had become inseparable. Whatever Stiles wanted to do, Sam agreed and vise versa. It was a lot of fun with just those two. In the months they had become friends, Sam learned a few things. Stiles' dad was a deputy, and his mom was sick.

And gradually she got worse and ended up dying. Sam didn't know until she saw that Stiles wasn't at school one day, which was a rarity.

After school, she headed to his house and knocked on his door. For a couple of moments, no one answered until Mr. Stilinski opened the door, the toll of his wife's death evident on his face.

The man gave Sam a soft, welcoming smile anyways and let her in to see his son. Not for his own sanity, but for his son's as well. He needed someone even if it wasn't him.

Sam walked up the stairs to Stiles' room and knocked on his door. A quiet "yes?" could be heard from the other side and Sam peeked in the boy's room.

Stiles was laid in his bed, his back facing the rest of the room. He was picking at the paint on his wall, miserably.

His whole room was full of sorrow. His curtains were closed when he usually had them open, he hadn't cleaned his floor and his backpack looked like it hadn't even been touched.

"It's me.", Sam said softly. The boy paused and turned to look at her. "You're here… why?", he asked.

She walked up to him. "I missed you at school today. It was boring without you.", she said, her attention driven to her shoes now.

Stiles frowned. He wasn't sure what to do anymore. Was there any point of going anymore?

He sucked up his own feelings and gave her a smile. "I'm fine. Things like this happen apparently. I wasn't alive when my grandma died so it's not that bad.", he rambled.

Sam frowned. He just… smiled? It was the opposite of how his room looked. He was lying.

She walked closer and sat on his bed. "Stiles… it's okay if you're upset. You're allowed to be. It's sad. You're supposed to feel sad and that's okay. It's okay to be sad.", she expressed, trying to get him to understand. She hoped he understood what she was trying to say.

It wasn't his fault.

Stiles couldn't keep his smile for long. Sobs bubbled up in his chest as he sat up and clung to Sam like a koala, refusing to let go as he wept.

Jumbled words like, "She left me", "I did it", "I killed her" reached Sam's ears and she refused to let him think that way while she was there.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that he thought that way. The boy couldn't hurt a fly even if he wanted to.

For hours, Sam stayed by Stiles' side until his sobs died down to soft sniffles even after he fell asleep. Noah found the kids napping on Stiles' bed, taking in his son's clingy, sleeping stature.

He was grateful that Sam was here for him and that she stayed. He'd let her mother know what happened and why.

When Denise found out, she was apologetic and even brought to tears herself. Stiles was without a mother and Noah was without a wife.

It was gonna be a heavy change for the both of them, so she decided she and Sam would take care of them when they needed help. Even if they didn't need help, they'd be there for comfort. To be there when they just wanted to talk.

The funeral came and went and the two stayed by each other's side even after meeting another boy named Scott McCall, who's mom was close to Stiles' dad and was there when his mother died.

The boy came up to the two, mainly apologetic to Stiles. Despite the saddened event, Scott managed to still become acquainted with the two.

Since then, their bond became closer. After the funeral, Sam couldn't help but be saddened as she laid in her room. She hoped her father wasn't dead. She missed Jay so much.

Later that night, Denise sat Sam down in her room, a long talk ensued.

"So, as you know, your daddy hasn't been around anymore.", Denise started. Sam nods. "Well, I have this friend who likes me and I… maybe like him back.", Denise explains.

Sam's eyebrows raised in interest. "You have a crush?"

Denise watched her daughter's facial expression, searching for sadness, or resentment. When she found neither, she continued. "I do. And he likes me back, but I was wondering if that was okay with you?"

Sam sat up, almost excited and nodded with a smile. "I'm okay with that, mama. As long as you're happy!", she says, making her mother smile with shiny eyes.

She brought the girl in her arms and placed a loving kiss on her forehead. "I knew you'd be okay with it.", she hummed, squeezing her child. "My sweet girl.", she squealed and playfully peppered kisses all over her face, making Sam laugh.

"Mama!", Sam giggled. The woman stopped, giggling herself. "Alright, alright. Sleep tight, baby. I'll bring him tomorrow.", she says, tucking the girl in and leaving her room.

Sam waited until her mother was down the hall and rushed to her window, looking up at the bright moon in the sky.

She clasped her hands together and spoke her wishes. After she finished, she snuggled under her blankets, excited now. She had hoped the man was really kind. Kind enough to like her mom. She hoped he was kind enough to be nice to her too.

The next day, Sam finally got to meet the mystery man, she was nervous. The man was fairly groomed, had a sweet smile and kind eyes, though the sudden shift in atmosphere around her made her feel… off.

She didn't question it, however. She was excited to meet him. Carl Smith, that was his name. He was a carpenter and visited the antique store.

He was sweet to her and her mother just like she wished. He even moved in and treated them like his own family after the first 5 months.

One night, Sam climbed up on the counter in the kitchen, looking for a mug to drink warm milk to get to sleep. Her mom was at the shop for the night and usually Sam held down the fort.

While grabbing at a mug, she hadn't realized she knocked over a glass until it was too late. She dropped a glass before. It was an accident. Her mom never yelled at her about it, understanding that the girl usually liked being independent with getting her own needs if nearby, but that didn't slide with Carl.

The shattering sound woke him up, and he stormed into the kitchen, finding Sam on the counter, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights.

"What're you doing!?", he yelled. Sam shrunk, still holding the mug. "I-I was trying to get milk…"

Carl shook his head and pointed a finger at the girl. "Stay right there." He moved around the shattered glass and got the broom and dustpan before sweeping up the shards.

After he was finished, he yanked the girl down from the counter, the tight grip on her arm making her whimper.

"Next time you need something, you ask. Don't just do shit by yourself.", he grounded out. "You understand?"

Sam's lips trembled as she nodded. Carl took the mug away and shoved the girl off to bed.

Needless to say, Sam was afraid the whole night. The next day at school, the young trio sat in class, the day much better than the previous night.

They were laughing about something Scott had done. The soft boy stumbling over his words had tried to deflect his embarrassment. As Stiles tried to make a joke, something caught his eye.

Now, he was no stranger when it came to cuts, scrapes and bruises. The boy was often clumsy and often ran as if he were to fall flat on his face if he never caught himself. His head tilted in curiosity as he gained Sam’s attention.

How’d you get that bruise, he’d ask stunning the girl into silence. Sam looked down at her sleeve that flipped open after she’d washed her hands, revealing the bruise she had gained last night. She only noticed how bad it was after waking up and letting the harsh, sore gripped appendage sit without treating it. Pulling the sleeve back over her wrist, she gave them a smile.

“I must’ve bumped into something last night. I think I was super tired and ran into something in the dark when I was getting something to drink.”, she excused. Scott agreed. “I do that sometimes.”, he said. Sam chuckled. “Of course you would.”

However, that didn’t slide past Stiles. The bruise was photographed in his mind. The bruise didn’t look like she had bumped into something. It almost looked like a hand…

A very large hand. Way bigger than hers.

He shook his head. He knew better than to play detective. It wasn’t his business.

Since that day, he’d see less and less of Sam. She would be nothing more than a hi or bye and rush off where he couldn’t follow. She didn’t even take the bus with him and Scott anymore. She wasn’t there to celebrate when his dad had become the sheriff either.

And the times when she was in class, she’d never meet his eyes. She wouldn’t talk to Scott either, which at the time, he even hoped she would. It didn’t even have to be him that she talked to, but he wished she’d just talk.

One day, Stiles found her defending a boy from two bullies. They were in the 6th grade and way bigger than her and the asthmatic boy. And yet, she fought them off. Albeit, getting hurt herself, she seemed to withstand their violence towards her and ran off when a teacher came and stopped the altercation.

Stiles couldn’t help but watch from the sidelines. What could he do if she didn’t want to talk…?

After school, he caught her reluctantly getting in a car with a man and automatically felt defensive until he realized that must’ve been the man she talked about before.

He still didn’t feel right. The man hadn’t come out of the car to address what happened with the boys from before to the teachers. He should’ve cared.

Stiles sighed and went home. He was still worried. Why wouldn’t she talk to him? What was up with her weird, evasive behavior….? Why did she seem to have new bruises every time he saw her?

They weren’t even like bruises the teachers paid attention to. They were hidden, she even had bandaids to cover them, so of course teachers would assume she had some accident. That was normal for a kid to get scraped up here and there.

But it was a new thing almost every day. He paid attention.

He was sure of it. This thinking kept him up all night. That man couldn’t possibly be hurting Sam. There’s just no way. He didn’t even think Mrs. Wilson was capable of hurting Sam. She was sweet, wonderful, and very welcoming.

The last time he’d been to her house, he had a weird vibe about the man there. He didn’t look sober half of the time. He smelled like alcohol here and there. It had him worrying about his own father and how much liquor the man consumed.

After he left, he didn’t feel like leaving yet, and Sam didn’t want him or Scott to go. In fact, she seemed…almost desperate for them to stay. Is that why she isn’t talking to either of them? It was kinda childish of her, if that was the case, considering they’d see each other almost every day.

But if it wasn’t because of that…

He sighed. He really hoped she was okay.

The next day only made his anxiety spike. He hadn’t seen her just yet. They arrived almost at the same time every day at school. He searched for Scott and found him saying bye to his mom.

Hours had passed and it was already noon. Sam hadn’t arrived. Stiles glanced at Scott worriedly who was unaware of his worrisome looks.

Scott came up to Stiles, confused about the boy’s jittery behavior. “Hey, you seen Sam yet?”, Stiles asked. Scott shook his head. “She should be here soon anyways. Maybe she’s sick?”

Stiles hoped so. He really did.

More hours had passed and it was nearly the end of the day. She still hadn't shown up.

Stiles did the only thing he knew best, and that was to cause a distraction. The boy grabbed his desk, squeaking it back and forth along the tile floor of the classroom, gaining his teacher’s attention.

The teacher, annoyed with the boy’s action, promptly sent him to the principal’s office which he happily obliged.

The principal of the elementary school scolded Stiles for his disruptive behavior as he called the boy’s father.

Mr. Stilinski, already exhausted from the responsibilities of his new position, made it to the school ready to scold his child. Stiles didn’t care about any of that, though. That was the least of his worries.

Before his father could start, Stiles yanked the man outside, desperate for his attention. “Dad, you have to go to Sam’s house.”

Noah looked exasperated, and even disappointed. “Stiles, really? You caused a disruption all because Sam’s missed one day?”

Stiles’ eyes got glossy. He wasn’t listening. “Dad, I’m serious!”, his voice cracked. “It’s way more than that. Just-- please go to Sam’s house. Please go check up on her.”, he begged, making his father falter in his disappointment for the boy’s strange behavior.

Noah sighed. “I’ll go check. But after that, you go back to class and you apologize to your teacher.”, he reprimanded and left the boy in the cold hallway.

Stiles couldn’t move. His heart was in his stomach. All his questions were jumbled, but remained the same.

Is Sam okay?

Noah rode down the road to the Wilson residence, and called Denise. Getting a quick answer, he heard, “Hey, Noah!”

He smiled, “Hey, uh, is Sam home?”, he asked. There was a pause. “Uh, no? She should be at school. Carl said he’d drop her off while I was at work. My mom needed me to come in early for the big sales today.”, Denise responds.

Noah’s face dropped. His heart bumped in his chest as well. The girl wasn’t at school, his son’s panicked behavior…

That led him to believe Stiles knew more than he was saying. “Alright, then. I’ll talk to you later.”, he said, abruptly hanging up the phone. He sped down the road, quickly getting to the house, finding the driveway empty.

Sam wasn’t at school. Stiles was sure of that.

Noah quickly got out of his car and knocked loudly on the door. “Hello, is anyone home?”, he exclaimed loudly.

Once he didn’t get a response, he quickly repeated his question before ramming his shoulder into the door, quickly getting it open.

The sheriff looked around, seeing an empty living room. No one was home.

Correction, no one was downstairs. He walked to the staircase, looking up as he called, “Sam?”

No response.

He bound up the stairs with harsh, heavy steps, quickly finding the girl’s room. Once he opened the door, his steps stopped. His heart nearly shattered as he saw the girl’s tattered clothes, or what was left of them. Her bloody, beaten face next to shards of brown glass that belonged to a bottle of some sort.

He rushed over to her, trying to find a sign that she was at least alive. He found a pulse. It was there, just faint. She wasn’t responding to any of his words as he held her.

He grabbed His comms, immediately rushing for an ambulance and for his other comrades to find the man that had done this. Sam was quickly rushed to the hospital, the poor sight of the girl breaking the heart of Melissa McCall.

Sam was still unresponsive, but her pulse was much the opposite. It became stronger after she received her treatment and laid quietly in her hospital room.

Denise was immediately called to the hospital, sobbing at the state of her daughter. It was my fault, she cried. I should’ve taken her to school, she sobbed.

Noah and his deputies found the drunken man at a bar down the street, promptly arrested for attempted murder, abuse and rape of a child. Despite the man’s drunken, disgusting excuses, Noah made sure Carl was going straight to prison. He could do that. He was the sheriff after all.

After the filing, Stiles was brought to the department, still worried. “Dad…?”, he’d call, making his father look at him with glassy eyes. The situation hadn’t made its way to the school. It hadn’t hit him until now. Until he saw his son’s worried, unaware face.

Noah walked up to his son, kneeling and placed a hand on his shoulder. “She’s…Well…Sam’s going to be okay.”, he said. Stiles shook his head, his anxiety spiking once more. “She’s…dead…?”

Noah shook his head quickly, and explained simply that she was hurt and that Stiles was right to be worried.

“How did you know something was happening?”, he asked his son. “She wasn’t talking to me or Scott. She had all these bruises and was making up excuses for them. I just…I wasn’t sure what to do.”, Stiles squeaked quietly with a shrug.

Noah wrapped his arms around the boy. “You did the right thing telling me when you did.”, he told Stiles. Stiles hugged his dad just as tight, letting out some sobs into his dad’s shoulder.

Out of relief and sadness, he was glad she was alive. Hurt, but alive nonetheless.

When she was finally awake, he got to see her and brought every single thing He could think of that would cheer her up.

For hours, they'd play little games here and there. When he took a break, he came back to hear Sam's sobs. He peeked in her hospital room to see her mom holding the girl's hand as tears ran down her face.

"I won't be selfish again…! I won't get in trouble anymore! I won't fight anymore! I just want daddy to come home!", Sam sobbed. Denise brought the girl in her arms. She wished her husband had come home too. Maybe none of this would've happened if she hadn't brought up her worries about the town.

Maybe he wouldn't have left.

Sam sighed. "And that's what happened. Since then, Stiles stuck to me like glue. Scott didn't know what happened. I asked him not to tell Scott."

Derek wanted to roll his eyes. That plan didn't work, since Stiles had already expressed his anger toward the Wilson men and explained what happened.

Though, he was angry himself. He was angry that it happened at all.

"That shouldn't have happened to you. Not at all.", Derek says, shaking his head. "But it did, and I'm here.", Sam says.

He looks in her eyes, "And you're so strong for that. For withstanding everything that bastard did to you. You shouldn't have had to. It was fucked up.", he said.

Sam smiled softly and moved closer to crawl into his arms. "It was, but it won't happen again.", Sam said. There wasn't much she could say about it. What was done, was done. She killed him already. He couldn't harm anyone else anymore.

His soul belonged to her after all.

Derek placed a kiss on top of her forehead. "And I'll make sure it won't happen again. Ever."

#teen wolf derek hale #derek hale #derek hale x oc #poc oc #derek hale imagine #derek hale x reader #derek hale x plus size reader #x black reader #teen wolf #teen wolf stiles #derek hale x black reader #stiles and derek #stiles and Scott #young Stiles #noah stilinski #stiles stilinksi #stiles stilinski #teen wolf fanfic #fanfics #teen wolf fanfiction #teen wolf x reader

[cottoncandy-cult]

Movie Night (ZFBFS)

It was just after sunset on one slow Saturday night, after almost a year together the two of them had formed a sort of weekend ritual. They had bonded closely, and Zack had come a long way with his lessons, he struggles with some words still but now he could read packaging, basic instructions, and had readable handwriting. Meanwhile (Y/n) had mellowed some, when it's just them she sought Zack's affection like a drug, and he was happy to indulge her. On this night the two were planning to binge a horror movie series, it was allegedly banned from their country due to questionable origins but one of (Y/n)'s recent targets had a collection of movies and TV series. She decided to help herself to them since they had stage a robbery anyways, so she loaded up her car and came home feeling like a champion. They had loaded up on junk foods, drinks, and some regular foods. They had to drag a second coffee table out of storage to put everything on, it was like a personal banquet. Both she and Zack had their own personal blankets, both fluffy and comfy with their selected images. Now that Zack could read, he liked to do some online shopping from time to time. They both had a habit of getting something for the other when shopping for themselves, though lately they had also taken to get what (Y/n) called bonding kits. Soap making kits, Candle Making kits, and more. The two had taken to creating things on their days off or when they had free time, it was a good way to decompress. Currently (Y/n) was sat on the couch, her fluffy cover draped over her lap, Zack was situated similarly right next to her. Both had a TV tray on their lap, eyes on the TV itself while devouring their individual meals.

They were sat with their thighs pressed to each other, basking in each other's warmth as the only light on in the living room had come from the TV and a hallway light that was left on for when they needed to go to the bathroom. They had just begun watching the first movie in the series, it was just starting pick up but even (Y/n) could admit she understood why they found the origins of the movie questionable. The vibe was off, it was just too raw. She felt like she was watching something from the dark web, granted the movies were illegal but this was a different kinda feeling. She had been taking lives for years, her entire life that was what she trained to do. Of course they didn't target the innocent, they went after those doing heinous things that were legally untouchable. They were the dark guard dog of the government; they bared their fangs only at threats to society and the innocent. Because of this there were certain behaviors she noticed, certain real behaviors she shared with the killer. A pit was almost forming in her stomach, she felt like this was less of a horror movie and more of an execution video. Something that would usually be considered evidence, it was often they were shown evidence linked to specific targets to remind them why such people needed to be dealt with. There were many people who filmed their crimes, but because they neither speak nor show their face it's a struggle to provide enough legal evidence to formally arrest them. That's not to say there is zero evidence, rather the government has evidence they can't show to the people because the means in which it was gathered was either less than legal or it was gathered in a way that has yet to be revealed to the public. There are just some things people aren't ready to know about, things that would cause chaos if they came to light. Her job was important, because while technically supported and guided by the government, they were also a shadow group that operated separately. It was their job to protect the innocent ignorance of the public AND protect their lives. That was why this movie was giving her goose bumps, but still she watched as she ate. She hadn't been given orders to find this guy, so there might not be any proof against him and the movie is just really violent. She continued with her meal, occasionally sipping on her drink.

Neither had spoken during the movie, both were invested in watching it. Though she knew Zack's focus was brought on by the same feeling she got, he had been working for the company about a year now. He had seen the videos, the movies, the evidence. So, both were waiting, waiting for that singular moment of confirmation. Before neither had noticed the sun was coming up, they were 6 movies in by that point, all their food had been eaten and they STILL weren't sure about this series. "What the hell are we even watching anymore?" Zack grumbled to himself, pausing the movie as he began rubbing his eyes. "Not a clue, I lost the plot around movie 3." She had pulled her cover up to her shoulder, snuggling into Zack's side. The dark-haired male had draped his arm over her, looking down at his lover curiously. "Don't tell me you wanna sleep down here on the couch, the sun's starting to come up." Zack had watched as (Y/n) shifted, pressing against his chest and making him lay flat as she snuggled on top of him not unlike a cat. "Why not? It's our house, we can sleep where we want." She had adjusted her cover over them, making sure their whole bodies were covered as she closed her eyes and rested her head on his chest. "Fine, but if you aren't up by noon, I'm dropping you in the pool." Zack pressed a kiss to the top of her head, relaxing against the surprisingly comfortable couch and closing his own eyes. When he felt her breathing even out with sleep, Zack brought a hand up to gently run through her hair. Turning the TV down low he had backed out to the streaming sites main menu, beginning to scroll for something to watch until he fell asleep. He had managed to grab a bowl of chips from the table without moving his lover too much, setting it on the floor closer to the couch so he could reach down to grab some when he wanted them while he watched the show he put on. He'd eat with one hand, using the other to play with the young woman's hair. This was pretty much how their Saturday nights ended, in each other's arms buried beneath the covers. Isolated from the outside world, instead living in their own little bubble once that front door closed. It was a peace Zack wouldn't trade for anything; this place was his Atlantis.

#candy cult vault #fluff #x reader #fem reader #angels of death #isaac foster x reader #isaac foster boyfriend scenarios #zack foster boyfriend scenario #zack foster x reader #zack foster

[fiddlstyx]

Please Tell me about your Spider-Man au (two of my favorite things) ((I am begging))

OOHH BOY OK

instead of trying to invest a time machine, doc instead tries to invent a way to give people the ability to time travel. his first test subjects in this experiment are spiders, of course >:)

now, marty knows not to touch those spiders. does he know what they're for? definitely not. but he does know that they're completely off limits. thats why when he accidentally breaks their enclosure and gets bitten by one, while doc is out, he doesn't say anything.

during this time, doc had also been inventing a device to help him with productivity in the lab, four controllable robot arms

the rest of what goes on follows pretty closely with the plot of the second spider man movie, i actually took notes on that whole movie once for this. doc doesnt actually learn that martys spider man until the end of the movie, after doc had been trying to kill him for however long. but once he breaks out of the arm's control (and DOESNT DIE!!), doc helps him out in his superheroing.

anyway, because of the extra special time spider juice, marty also has the ability to slightly control time (ie. stop it, slow it, speed it up). he only first figures this out during one of his fights with doc, only because he's right about to be killed. by the end of the movie he can still barely control it. doc helps him figure it out, though.

marty is very much Not Having A Good Time. the super powers part is cool and all, sure, but its also not. hes got no clue whats going on, he cant control his powers, his best friend/father figure/the only one who could fucking help him is trying to Kill him, his relationship is going all poopy because of all the lies he has to tell. its just not a good time. and of course when doc breaks free he feel INCREDIBLY guilty, and no matter what he does to help marty and keep him safe and apologize for almost killing him MULTIPLE time, doc has a very very hard time forgiving himself.

on the bright side though, after jenn learns marty is a freaking superhero and thats why he was lying, their relationship gets better. of course it still has the problems all superhero relationships have, but its still better.

i dont have much to say about the plot because its pretty much just spider man 2 so have a couple other fun facts:

needles would probably be harry osborn, though I did just make that up so it can change

george is dead. hes the uncle ben. rip

marty is definitely able to time travel but wouldnt be able to unless under like. SUPER stressful situations. basically, bttf can still happen in this universe, just with some extra spider garnish

if i were to write a fic about this id probably call it "See the Future Through the Haze" which is a lyric from the spider man turn off the dark musical

originally, marty could only stop time for as long as he was holding his breath

the movie notes i made: (i hope my handwriting is readable lol)

the janaury drawing:

other various doodles:

#back to the future #spiderman au #thank you for the ask! #:DD i love this guy #i think this started because marty and peter give of similar vibes? ifk #fiddl’s fiddles #fiddl is sorry about your barn #hehe these are so fun

[bloodofvoid]

Ghost Ghoul oc #2

Ghoul Name: Pebble

Meaning of name: a small rock

Gender: Male

Age: 26

Birthday: April 2, 1996

Appearance

Weight: 165 pounds

Height: 6’6

Body shape: nimble

Hands: calloused and rough with short fingers

Face shape: narrow

Nose shape: triangle

Eye color: brown

Eyelash length: short

Hair color: silver

Hair texture: long

Hair length: nape

Glasses or contacts: black lensed eye contacts on occasion

Distinguishing marks: scars everywhere

Additional features: none

Physical flaws: lame leg from battle

Personality

Personality Type: ESTJ

Hobbies: reading, gaming

Instrument: drums, other percussion

Sport: soccer 

How they would spend a rainy day: Inside practicing his instruments

Favorite music genre: Heavy metal, jazz

Money spending habits: video games

Smokes: yes, weed and vape

Drinks: yes

Other drugs: no

Allergies: none

Dominant hand: Right

What they do too much of: playing around with friends, 

What they do too little of: focusing on Clergy work

Extremely skilled at: reading and drums

Handwriting: barely readable

Favorite smell: melted chocolate

Nervous tics: swinging around his sticks

Usual body posture: leaned back against chair

Mannerisms: Talking loudly

Peculiarities: spicy things

Hates: rules

Intrigued by: the outside of Earth

Fears: Being locked up, Claustrophobia, humans

Favorite colors: Blue

Flaws: Small attention span, randomly aggressive 

Preferred artistic outlet: sketching

Strengths: Strong and resilient

Weaknesses: Easily swayed

Special Powers: able to make plants grow or wilt at will

Quote/quotes:

“What song is this?” 

“My parents left me and look at me now!”

“Sometimes I wonder if hell is better than Earth.” 

Traits  

Optimist or Pessimist: Pessimist

Introvert or Extrovert: Extrovert

Daredevil or Cautious: Daredevil

Logical or Emotional: Emotional 

Messy or organized: messy

Scent: smells of roses and dirt

Blood type: B

History

Family?: 

His parents left him and the clergy adopted him after

Born in: Hell

Lives in: The Church

Job: Drums and additional percussion 

Traumatic/Significant/Detrimental events?: His parents leaving him, being forced to fight

Pets?: A tortoiseshell cat named Peta

Clothing

Everyday clothes: a baggy hoodie with cargo pants and sneakers

Clothes for working: Ghoul uniform

Jewelry: none

Accessories: a flame pin on his uniform cuff

Swimwear: swimming trunks

Sleepwear: one large hoodie that covers his entire body

Favorite item of clothing: his shirt

Favorite piece of jewelry: none

Favorite accessories: his pin

Tattoos: none

Other facts

Sexual orientation: pansexual

Birth sex: Male

Gender: Male

Pronouns: He/him

Voice: He sounds flirtatious and whiny, like Brandon Rogers almost

Mental illness/disorders: ADHD, PTSD

Good relationships: Earth, Delta, Rain, Aether, Omega, Cumulus, Cirrus,  

Neutral relationships: Wisp, Copia, Air, Cowbell, Chair, 

Bad relationships: Nihil, Primo, Terzo, Omega, Secondo, Sister Imperator, any Sibling of Sin, Alpha,

Romantic relationship: Delta

Ghoul element: Earth

Background: Pebble grew up in a struggling family, a starving one. After the first six years of Pebble’s life, his parents made a collective decision to abandon him. Pebble, only six at the time, resorted to his instincts to try and survive. He fought tooth and claw for food, gaining lots of scars in the process.

The Earth Ghoul grew into a large demon with a scrawny and scarred figure, beaten to a bloody pulp his whole life. After being chased by Fire Ghouls, he found his way to the surface world. He felt at peace in the forest he found, and decided to spend his adolescence there.

Yet after one day, he was captured by humans and locked away. The people who had taken him were a group of old men who bought, stole and kidnapped Ghouls for fights. They called Pebble, the Beast.

The once fragile, sweet and charismatic Pebble turned into a monster, living up to his name. He killed Ghouls every day, as long as it meant he got to stay alive. He was infamous in the illegal trading system, being bargained for for thousands of dollars, yet his owners never gave him up.

After one brutal fight, his leg was deemed lame so he couldn’t fight. Pebble, having murdered his cellmate, was put into the adoption section to try and save room. He was housed with a random Fire Ghoulette, and the two fought daily.

However one day, the Clergy arrived in a secretive way of trying to save Ghouls. And amongst them was a Water Ghoul, who took an interest in Pebble the moment he laid eyes on him.

#ghost band #ghost bc #ghost ghouls #oc #namesless ghouls #nameless ghoul

[ethwastaken]

HE IS SO ENDEARING ! HE MEANS A LOT TO ME

SAME HOLY FUCK

#hello his laugh #and his almost barely readable handwriting #him circling his answers #that little smile #a h h #ask #cait :D

[dreaming-about-fanfictions]

Choose Me Instead II Draco Malfoy x Reader II Ch. 23 of 27: Promises

Summary: Pretending to be in a relationship with Draco Malfoy to get back at your ex might have not been the smartest idea you ever had. Especially during your last year of Hogwarts where you should be focusing on exams and your future plans. However, you were just pretending. There was no way in hell you could actually catch feelings for someone like Malfoy. … Right?

CHOOSE ME INSTEAD MASTERLIST

A/N: I’m back! Most of my exams are done and I’m finally back with a new chapter. Before you read it, I recommend rereading Chapter 22. It’ll be easier to understand this chapter. Short reminder: in the german version of the books, “Narcissa” is spelled “Narzissa”. So please don’t be confused about the spelling. Have fun! <3

CHAPTER 22

Words: 3.4k Pairings: Draco Malfoy x Reader, post war Warnings: angst, smut

He appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

For days, you had avoided him. Sat as far away as possible from him in class, stayed close to Ginny and Hermione, didn’t give him a chance to even approach you. And now, way past curfew you met him on a random hallway near the library.

The sight of him made your heart jump. His eyes widened. The two of you stood in front of each other, quietly waiting for the other to make a move. You took all of him in and tried your best not to wince when you realized how sickly he looked. It was your fault.

Draco spoke first. “What are you doing here?” His voice was strained.

You hadn’t heard his voice in what felt like weeks and you took a moment to process it. “Owlery,” you said finally. “I was on my way to the Owlery. I need to send a letter to my parents.”

He nodded. “I heard what happened. I’m sorry.”

You looked down. It was strangely comforting to hear it. “I know.” You wanted to say more but no words came to mind. None that would fit your current situation anyways. “I should leave,” you mumbled and straightened your back. When you walked past him, you smelt a whiff of his cologne and held your breath. You didn’t dare to look at him and resumed your way towards the Owlery.

“We need to talk.”

He had raised his voice and the words echoed in the dark hallway. You hesitated. “Draco …” Then you shook your head. “No.”

“Y/N, you owe me.” You heard his footsteps. “You owe me an explanation.”

It was then that you finally turned around. “I gave you one.”

Draco scoffed. “You gave me shit.”

“I gave you what you deserve,” you shot back. Each word struggled to come out. Lies, so many lies. “I told you, I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be with you. We took this too far.”

You didn’t look him in the eyes but there was no reason to. The pain in his voice showed you that the words had their desired effect: “I still don’t believe you.”

“That’s not my problem,” you said. All the exhaustion from the past week suddenly rushed back and you felt your eyes beginning to burn. You wiped over your face, trying to keep your composure. “Draco,” you began and then you noticed something in his hand. An all too familiar bottle. Ginny had the same one on her nightstand. “What –”

Draco smiled bitterly and held up the sleeping medicine. “Thanks to you.”

“Screw you, Malfoy.” You turned around and left.

 “You have to eat something,” Ginny gently touched your shoulder and you pulled the blanket tighter around your shoulder. She sighed but her hand stayed on your skin, warmth radiating from it. “Please, you have barely –”

“I’m not hungry.” You cleared your throat. It felt so raspy. Speaking hurt.

“Come on, Y/N,” Ginny tried again. “It’s still early. If we leave now, no one will even see us. You don’t even have to get dressed. You can go in your pajamas.” You heard the smile in her voice. “How much fun would that be.”

A smile tugged on your lips but you couldn’t bring yourself to move a muscle. You were tired. So tired.

 “Oh, so we’re using last names again?” Draco followed you down the hallway with long strides. “Fine, Y/L/N.”

Your face burned, not with anger but with shame. His nightmares had returned and it was all your fault. The rational part of your brain told you that you weren’t responsible for his suffering. The break up was merely one tiny puzzle piece, one tiny thing that added up to all the drama and hurt in his life, but still it could have been avoided. The pure knowledge of that drowned out that part of your brain. And what was even worse – you couldn’t change it now. Couldn’t help him. Not now. Not ever.

“What do you want from me?”, the coldness in your voice frightened yourself.

“What I want from you?”, Draco sneered behind you. “I want you to stop lying!”

 Astoria was gorgeous. You had noticed it before but now you saw her in an entirely different light. When bitter words spilled out of you, a desperate attempt to cut through her skin and into her heart, her expression changed but her beauty stayed.

Their wedding photos will be on the front page of The Daily Prophet, you realized and the thought flipped your stomach. She’ll look perfect and happy and he … will he smile?

 You whirled around and nearly bumped into him. “When will you get this into your head, Malfoy? I’m not lying to you!” Every word was accompanied by a tap of your finger against his chest. Draco caught your wrist and held it still. It was unexpected and his tight grip hurt. You let out a sharp hiss.

“Merlin, when will you ever stop this charade?” Draco stared at you. The disgust in his eyes send shivers down his spine. You had seen this look before on him but it had never been directed at you. “All you ever do is lie! You lie to your parents, your friends, everyone who you say means something to you receives nothing from you except lies and deceptions. It seems to be the only thing you’re truly good at, the only thing that –”

“Shut up!”, you shrieked. You tried to pull away from him but he held tightly on to your wrist.

 You read the letter over and over and over until you memorized every last word of it. Your fathers handwriting was shaky, stretched letters, barely readable as if he wrote them in a hurry. Lines were smeared, dots missing, such a strange contrast to the neatly put-together man.

They found Alissa. Your sister. She was alive and well, hiding out in Southern Germany with two other Death Eaters that fled the country after the Battle of Hogwarts. They changed their appearances and names and got low-paying jobs in local muggle stores. You almost snorted when you read it. Your sister, the same one who believed muggles should be enslaved, now served them? Oh, what bitter irony this life kept in store for us.

Two days after the letter reached you, her face appeared on The Daily Prophet. You let out a sharp breath. It’s been years since you had last seen her face and time had not been treating her kindly. Sunken cheeks and hair that hung down in greasy strands – your hands started to shake. There was barely any resemblance between the woman that stared at you with blank eyes and the sister you grew up with.

“LAST DEATH EATERS FINALLY FOUND”, the headline said. You skimmed over the words but folded the newspaper and put it away once they got to a gruesome retelling of the Cleansing of Edinburgh.

Narzissa had kept her promise and you hated her for it.

You felt the stares of your classmates burning holes into your cloak and Hermione reached for your hand to squeeze it tightly. When you looked up however, your eyes were drawn to him.

He looked at you with an unreadable expression on his face. You wondered if he knew. If he had figured it out.

 Tears burned in your eyes. He’s right, you thought, he’s right about all of it. Draco abruptly turned his head; a clanking sound was heard at the end of the hallway. You barely noticed it.

“I have to stay away from you,” you whispered and he looked back at you. “Why can’t I stay away from you?” Your voice broke.

“You know why,” Draco replied. “It’s why my nightmares returned too.”

“Draco …” His name rolling from your tongue – it felt so right.

“We need one another.” He came closer. “We … whatever it was that we had, it worked.”

You let out a shuddering breath. “It didn’t.”

His gaze hardened again. “Stop fucking lying,” he hissed and suddenly, he let go of your hand and pressed you up against the wall. You yelped.

“Stop forcing something that isn’t there.” He was close, so damn close. “You have a wild imagination, Malfoy.”

He scoffed. “Look at me and say this again.” He grabbed you by your chin and forced you to look at him. “I said, look at me,” he growled. “Tell me it was all in my imagination. Every word, every touch, every confession late at night,” he glared at you. “Tell me, it meant nothing. Tell me, you didn’t feel it. Tell me, you don’t still dream of me. That you don’t long for my hands on your body, for the way my lips made you scream my name.”

His face was only inches away from yours. His smell was intoxicating; you could barely concentrate. The touch of his hand burned through your clothes. Naturally, instinctively, your hips rolled against his. His eyes glistened at the movement. “Look me in the eyes and tell me, it was all part of my imagination.”

You stared at him and with every passing second, you drowned in the grey of his eyes, drowned in the storm of them. “I hate you.” 

When your lips met, lightning struck.

“What are you reading?”

Theo and Blaise dropped down onto the grass and startled you.

“Potions,” you replied and Blaise raised his eyebrows at your obvious lie. You had made no attempt to hide the letter that laid on top of your potions textbook. Suddenly, you tensed up, remembering the last time when the boys came to look for you. “Is everything okay with him?”

“With whom?”, Blaise asked.

“Draco, idiot.” Theo rolled his eyes. “He’s … fine,” he then said.

“More or less,” Blaise mumbled and the two of you glared at him.

“We came to give you this.” Theo stretched out his arm, holding a piece of paper. You took it. An unfamiliar name and address was written in Theo’s sloppy handwriting. You looked at him, visibly confused.

“She can help you with your sister,” Theo said. You blinked.

“The trial,” Blaise explained. “My mother knows her and she helped in quite a few Death Eater trials so far.”

You read the name again, wondering how you had never heard of that woman. “Death Eaters belong in Azkaban,” you finally stated. “My sister is no exception.” The words burned in your throat.

The boys sighed. “A lifetime in Azkaban will not help her. People like your sister need a chance of rehabilitation,” Theo said.

“Do they?”, you asked with furrowed brows.

“After a considerable amount of time spent in Azkaban,” Blaise added. “Don’t get us wrong, she needs to be punished. Obviously. But prison alone will not help her change her world views. 

For the first time, you realized how little you knew about the two Slytherins. You had heard of Blaise’s mother, a woman who was famous for her many marriages. And you remembered the day, Theo’s father escaped Azkaban. But you knew nothing beyond that. You wondered how much pain and heartbreak these two young men carried inside their hearts.

It felt right.

He felt right. His lips against yours, his tongue in your mouth, his hands grabbing you roughly. There was nothing sweet about this kiss. Nothing loving or calm. You felt his desperation in the way his hands teared at your blouse, felt his pain when he guided you to the nearest door in the hallway.

It was an unlocked classroom and the two of you didn’t break the kiss when you stumbled inside of it. He closed the door with his foot before lifting you up on a table. You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer. His lips traveled down to your neck and you threw your head back as he began to suck on the skin. A whimper escaped you when his teeth scraped against your skin.

Draco’s hands moved quickly. As if he had whispered a spell, the buttons on your blouse sprung open. You moaned softly when his hands explored your body like he’d do so for the first time. Flashbacks from your first night flooded your mind and for a moment, you were back in the hotel room. The memories mixed together with your current reality and you could no longer differentiate between the two. You whimpered at the way, Draco caressed you, pulled you into hungry kisses and when his fingers sunk inside of you, you almost screamed.

Draco knew by now which buttons to press to turn you into a whimpering, begging mess. You held on to him, your fingers clawing in his back, knowing you’d leave him with red streaks all over it. He pumped into you, while whispering in your ear. His thumb flickered over your clit and your breath grew more and more erratic.

An ache had begun to form in your stomach, growing stronger and stronger, and you begged for him not to stop. He chuckled and his hot breath against your cheek combined, made you moan his name.

“Come for me,” he growled. “Come for me, I want to hear you scream my name.”

You obeyed him.

You watched him during Potions. He sat next to Theo and the two boys worked quietly on their assignment. Draco’s fingers moved with precision and ease, cutting the ingredients, mixing them in. From time to time, he read over the instructions, his brows furrowing slightly. He showed no sign of uncertainty and when Slughorn walked past him, the professor nodded contently.

The scene reminded you of the beginning of this school year when you had to work together for the first time. After he rescued you from Ron’s insults. “I don’t ever need you to come to my rescue,” you had snarled at him and Draco’s response was to flirt with you during class. How confused you had been during those weeks. How utterly irritated when you had to admit to yourself that Draco Malfoy was not the one dimensional asshole you had always wanted him to be. Oh, how you wanted to go back in time to this exact moment.

“You’re staring at him again,” Hermione said.

Your eyes dropped down to the cauldron again as you kept stirring it. You felt the worried look of your friend but were too exhausted to say something back to her.

A few minutes later, you looked up again. Draco had stopped working. His hands still held a knife. A root remained untouched on the table. When your eyes met, his flickered with pain. You held your breath. What would happen if you just went over to him? Then Theo touched his arm and Draco turned to him, breaking the moment.

Draco didn’t give you a chance to calm down and catch your breath. You still rode out the last waves of your orgasm when you felt him pressed against your folds, hard and dripping. He pulled you into a hard kiss and entered you in one swift movement, stretching you in an almost painful way.

“Fuck,” he groaned and you bit down his lip. You moaned when he began to move, equally rough and desperate to the way he kissed you before.

“I love you,” you heard him mumble. “I love you so fucking much, I hate you for making me feel this way.” He thrusted into you relentlessly. You arched your back and his hands gripped you so tightly, you were scared it’d leave bruises in the morning.

You mumbled something against his lips but didn’t know whether it was a curse or a confession, all you felt was the way he pounded into you. Each thrust brought you closer and closer to the edge. You felt the sensation in your stomach growing stronger and stronger. Draco grabbed you by the neck and your eyes fluttered open. When they met his, you moaned at the lust in them and they darkened. Your legs started shaking; he knew you were close.

“You want to come again?”, he groaned.

“Yes, please,” you replied and he smirked; a smirk that sent shivers down your spine. Gods, how you had missed this expression on his face. You knew that in the years to come, you’d dream of the sight of him – like this, sweaty and wanting and desperate for your walls to clench around his cock.

“Then come for me,” he hissed. You let go and pleasure followed immediately. It washed over you and you were certain you blacked out there for a second. Your legs started shaking uncontrollably and you came with his name on your lips.

Draco followed shortly after. His hips stuttered and with a silent curse, he released himself inside of you.

 ***

It was quiet. Draco had his hands behind his head as you rested your head on his chest. Your cloaks protected the two of you against the coldness radiating from the stones. His eyes were open, his mind restless.

Your fingers traced over his side and he shuddered at the soft touch. “I’m sorry,” you said, disturbing the peace. “I’m sorry, I can’t give you the answers you deserve.”

Draco swallowed. A few days ago, you had shattered his heart in the blink of an eye. But now, the fleeting touch of your fingertips mended it back together. Deep down, he sensed that it was only a temporary fix however. A tiny bandage on an open wound that would never stop bleeding – but he’d bleed out willingly if it meant he could hold you in his arms a little while longer.

“I would burn down the world for you,” Draco whispered. “I would hunt down whoever hurt you, if you’d only allow me. You hold my heart in your hands.”

You raised your head. A single tear rolled down your cheek and Draco reached to wipe it away. “I love you.”

Draco let out a shuddering breath. He had imagined a thousand different scenarios in which you confessed to him. In none of them did they feel like a dagger plunged in your heart.

“What I said that night was a lie.”

“I know.” He smiled sadly. “Allow me to love you back. Please.”

“No.” You shook your head. “I can’t.”

Draco sighed in frustration and stared back at the ceiling.

“Promise me to let this go.”

He scoffed. “I can’t let go of you.”

“Yes.” You sat up next to him. “Yes, you can. You must. Promise me.”

He looked at you. Merlin, how beautiful you were.

“If you truly love me, you will promise me and you will honor your promise.”

“You’re unfair,” he said softly.

“Slytherin blood runs through me.”

Draco chuckled. You leaned down and placed a kiss on his lips. “Draco, please.”

He promised.

 ***

Draco stared at the ring in his hands. A golden band with an emerald, encircled by diamonds. A stunning, timeless piece that belonged to his grandmother and would look beautiful on Astoria’s petite fingers.

His eyes flickered to the nightstand. The bag of candy from the weekend in Hogsmeade was almost empty. Two pieces remained. He didn’t touch them, couldn’t bring himself to eat them. When he did, there would be nothing left of you. There would be no physical reminder that you ever shared a part of his life. No photos of the two of you together, no notes, no forgotten T-Shirt or hair pins in his dorm. You had come into and vanished from his life without a single trace.

Draco gritted his teeth when the familiar emptiness began to rise inside of him. He looked back at the ring. It’d suit you. Green was your colour, Draco was sure of it. The time you wore his scarf proved it.

“It’s not too late yet.” Theo sat on his bed, arms crossed in front of his chest as he watched his friend. “You don’t have to do this. Contrary to your belief, you do have a choice.”

Draco closed his eyes. For a split second, he saw you and him, in the manor, laughing about something his mother had said. He saw you, barely covered by satin sheets, the morning sun hitting your face. He saw vacations, candlelight dinners, celebrations, your favorite flowers on the kitchen table, a shared closet, candy from Honeydukes. He saw happiness.

Draco opened his eyes and looked at Theo. “You know where Astoria is?”

***

CHAPTER 24

Choose Me Instead Masterlist Harry Potter Masterlist

The Tag list for this fic is closed!

Tag List (Part 1): @writerdee1701, @youareinllve, @sjmahoney, @detroitobsessed, @takura-rin, @jadam268, @wynterwind, @mina672, @renaissance-confiance, harpoon999, @doitforthevine67, @rinasrights, @flowerpowerpixie, @gold-flowing, @starkssnarks, @bookcornerkins, @harpersmariano, @markedsweetly, @iraniq, @pointlesscoconut, @hvrcruxes, @pillowjj, @idkatee, @jungjxxhyun, @magicwithaknife, @graystherapy, @sophia-gwendolyn, @nxstalgicnxbxdy, @sunsetsofanemoia, @s4dthrills, @tommy-holland, @lordfxxker, @streetfighterrichie, @awaken-the-sirens, @destiels-assbutt13, @pockitparks, @just-addicted-to-bangtan, @cuddlykoala101, @zpandaqueen, @marvelpeters, @natsiboo, @jjjmaybank, @justmesadgirl, @books-and-tings, @slytherinprincedracom, @katiaw2, @saintkore, @nctnight, @lifestragedy, @obxmxybxnk, @spideydobik, @ladylizzieofdarbyshire, @aspiring-ginger, @dracomalfoyswifey, @jpow345, @realistic-breadstick, @h-annahayy, @abbs-is-tired, @alwaysbeanunknownfan, @niallsarmveinstho, @is-this-a-febreze-commercial, @acciowilltolive, @spideysmcu, @sexytholland, @faangirl101, @donttellany1iusetumbler, @mendesmuffinsss, @lilxnvm, @kill-the-teen-memories, @darkusangelus, @p0gue420, @itsbebeyyy, @hesaidimcrazy, @jenniweaslee, @hpxpjo, @brisbubble, @xomaymay, @shitnstuffillregret, @serialkillme, @angel-tears15, @panicattheeverywherekid, @obsssedwithjustaboutanything, @disgraceisonfire, @nobleking, @tashii-blr, @ddaeing, @randogirlo-fando-main @sadgirlnumber92899, @captivateing, @bitchyegirl, @smiithys, @ninipoo1, @intheawks, @cherrylita, @nothanksnyla, @calpal-4ever, @dracosathenaeum, @belsandthings, @lifeasdreamgirl, @kiwi-sloan, @xdmx, @allaboutthatdrummer, @kvyenxay, @live-awkward, @babebenhardy, @bitchysweets-blog, @cravingmusic, @frau-moon, @ohissandhalasta, @noravirginia1994, @broken-but-beautiful-cassie, @lil-black-heart, @obsssedwithjustaboutanything, 

#draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy imagines #draco malfoy fanfiction #astrids fics #choose me instead #harry potter imagines #draco malfoy

[xmfxne]

Muse Favorites/Preferences

Animal: Cats Flower: Sunflowers. Nahmanda Flowers. Scent: Strawberry, curry, fresh cooked meals, hazelnut, nutmeg. Coffee: Storebrand hazelnut flavored creamer... lots of it.  Tea: Not big on tea, but he’s willing to try it to make a good impression, but the only tea he’ll go out of his way to drink is Chamomile if he’s sick and has a sore throat, but it has to have sugar. Drink: Soda Alcoholic Beverage: Straw-Ber-Rita’s, or Angry Orchard Strawberry Apple Cider. If he goes out, he just gets whatever people recommend for him, and regrets it because he almost never drinks and has a low tolerance as a result.   Food: Anything spicy,  Dessert: Either microwave popcorn or home made nachos with cheddar and mozzarella cheese.  Article of Clothing: Hoodies. He likes to look as professional as possible, but on his days off, he’s almost always wearing a muscle shirt, hoodie, and some jeans. Also socks, fuzzy, thick, warm socks. He wears socks even in the summer. He can’t stand having bare feet. Candy: Red Hots/Hot Tamales, literally any spicy candy.  Left or Right Handed: Right. Sloppy or Neat Writing: Depends. At base, his handwriting is a bit on the sloppier side, especially if he rushes, but it’s still readable, it’s just not aesthetically pleasing. Kristoph has trained him to take his time making all his paperwork look neat, formal, and professional.  Home: Neat and tidy. If there’s a mess in his apartment, it’s either because that stain in the bathroom was there long before he moved in, or because of Mekiko.  Mostly in the night Tasks Done Early or Last Minute: Not sure what this is saying, but Apollo cannot rest until everything is done.  Love Language: Less is more, and money can’t buy affection. A single rose that was grown from home is worth millions more sentimentality than a bouquet of a thousand roses bought from a store. There’s also understanding, and willingness to understand. Ideally, his partner would accept him for who he was, and he wouldn’t have to change a single aspect about himself, but he will change if he needed to.  Believe in Love at First Sight: Maybe in high school, he first believed in such a thing, however, he’s had his heart broken so many times, been used and hurt so many times, that he stopped believing in any sort of thing like that. He stopped dating completely before the end of high school, and any crush he had after that, convinced himself that nothing would come of it and that he’d just get hurt. 

Tagged by: @legalbrats

Tagging: @thewrightstuff @fordfrontalnews @legalbrats (Emaaa!!) @leafstcne​ and the person who really wants to do this, but hasn’t been tagged yet!!

#Out of Contradictions #Apollo Justice #Not a Baseless Theory {Headcanon} #Recess {Tag Games}

[wolfboyvirus]

How well Arcana characters can read/write

(Im bored as shit yall)

Nadia:

The best reader and writer in all of vesuvia, can read the longest word to ever exist without hesitation and writes in the smoothest cursive youve ever seen. Sometimes she writes things on your skin like "my love" or something while yall r cuddling and if it was a normal person it would be great but all the swirls and curves just send you to heaven its fucking therapeutic. And, i forgot to mention she can read and write in like 3 other, way more complicated languages, and normally she isnt the type to brag but that is a serious achievement right there so how is she not gonna be like "oh of course i understand [insert language]. I can write in it too. Its rather easy, if im being honest." (insert smug smile)

Julian:

Is average at reading, nothing too special, but he's canonically the shittiest writer to ever exist. One time someone actually mistook it for genuine chicken scratch. Tbh he only learned to read and write because he needed it so he could do doctor-y things. However, he's fully aware that his writing is shitty so if you ever offer him any tips ("hey maybe make your o's by drawing a circle instead of a sloppy infinity sign") he will definitely take them.

Asra:

Before your death he couldn't really read or write at all but when he realized you had to relearn everything he learned all the shit so he could teach you. So now he's actually pretty good at it. Just a little under Nadia's skill level when it comes to reading, and his writing is just good enough to be actually readable (for you at least (he doesnt give a shit whether or not others can read his writing he just needs to make sure you understand it))

Portia:

She only just barely started learning a while back, so she's at the level of a 4th or 5th grader rn, but with time she's able to read literally anything. Unfortunately bad handwriting seems to run in the family since she's almost as bad as Julian. She's trying, just make sure to remind her that she should make a line straighter or a curve curvier every now and then and she'll be just fine. Also has a little trapdoor in her cottage leading to a little basement with a ton of books and paper she's dedicated specifically to her studies and there are cushions everywhere with patterned letters printed on them.

Muriel:

Actually can't read or write at all. Completely illiterate. He grew up homeless so he didn't really have anyone to teach him (except Asra but he didn't know either), and even after he ran away from the coliseum he didnt really need to learn. But, at a certain point you send him a cute love letter while ur traveling somewhere and he's like "wait i want to know what this says" so he learns the entire alphebet and like 37 words until you come back a week later and help him out. The only problem is that he has no concept of spacing or writing small so he can write "i lov yu" and it would take up the entire page. And the worst thing is that he finds he actually kind of likes writing and wants to keep a diary so he had an entire box of books full of writing thats slowly getting smaller and smaller and its actually a great way to track his progress but the amount of money you've spent on paper makes you wanna die. But it makes Muriel happy so who cares about bankruptcy right

Lucio:

He's barely any better than Muriel tbh. He sees you reading a book one day and he asks what its about (he doesnt like books but if ur interested in it then its probably good) and ur so focused on the story that you just show him the cover so you can keep reading and he's just like "...i cant fucking read that lmao" and you have to teach him because he starts to feel left out/insecure. He grew up in a tribe surrounded by violence and didnt really need to read and write to be a good mercenary so he had no incentive to learn. He only knows a few words because even though he usually got others to do work for him he did have to handle certain responsibilities as the Count of Vesuvia. So like he knows how to sign his name and initals and thats it. He really really wants to learn cursive like Nadia because it looks fancy but you actually dont know cursive so he needs to settle for normal writing like everyone else oof. He still prefers picture-based books but now he can enjoy that awesome novel u were reading :D

#the arcana #headcanons #julian devorak #nadia satrinava #portia devorak #asra alzanar #count lucio #muriel #nobody asked for this but #like i said i was bored as shit #also these headcanons don't take the heart hunter post cards into account so keep that in mind

[alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom]

THE MASTERPIECE: CHAPTER 5/5

Pairing: Modern!IVAR x Reader x Modern!HVITSERK

Spotify playlist: here (only for those who like latin urban music)

Warnings: strong language

Words: 2432

a/n: OK dear readers, I hope you get finally all the answers you needed. I hope you enjoy it as much as @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie and I did.

Summary:

Ivar and Hvitserk had always prided themselves in being the sons of Ragnar Lothbrok. They had a comfortable life full of everything they wanted: houses, cars, money, and the most beautiful women. And with all of that came the security of always having the upper hand. But what happens when a bewitching girl from Ragnar’s past arrives into their lives claiming his fortune?

“So, you don’t remember half of the night?”

“Only bits and pieces,” Ivar admitted, with a mortified countenance.

“Wow. Well, I’m happy that you finally fucked yourself into oblivion, little brother. Welcome to the club.” Hvitserk’s grin made Ivar’s lips twitch in annoyance. “Anyway, I just called you here to say that this morning I gave her that painting that dad loved so much and she said she would give us our inheritance back in exchange. We should be fine now.”

“Wait a moment. You did what?!” He could feel his blood boiling with every question that he shot at his sibling. “Couldn’t you tell me that at home? And would you like to explain to me why you didn't consult it with me first, you idiot?” Ivar stood up fast as a lightning bolt. One of the bones in his leg gave a considerably loud creak but he masked the pain by wrinkling his face in anger.

People started staring at them but as always, Ivar didn’t care what others thought of him.

“I don’t get it. What’s this frenzy about?” Hvitserk was pretty proud of the deal that he had sealed with Y/N and he currently felt embarrassed by Ivar’s behavior. “Please sit down, Ivar.” He spoke softly avoiding his eyes.

“No! Shut up and listen to me! In that fucking picture you gave her there was a key hidden behind the frame. It opened up a locker or a box, I don’t know! But something valuable for sure! Father put it there so no one could find it. I promised him I wouldn’t tell anyone about it. I thought we could take the painting with us if our plan to talk to her failed and she left us without any money. She wouldn’t notice it anyway. Father must have stored a lot of important papers and expensive things somewhere. Now that we are one step closer to being poor, they wouldn’t be a bad thing to have.”

“But how did she know it was that painting for sure?”

Ivar looked like he was putting together some clues inside his brain. “Wait a second…” His expression fell in an instant and he knew himself to be the biggest fool. “I think- I think she drugged me...”

“Druggedyou?!” Hvitserk’s olive eyes narrowed.

“Yeah. The second time we met. I remember feeling very strange after she served me that wine and she started asking questions about father. Then the rest of the night passed in a blur.”

“That makes no sense. Y/N asked me for that painting before she drugged you.”

“Well, we still don’t know how, but she knew our father at some point... Maybe she remembered that Ragnar liked it and I was the idiot who told her it had a key in the back...” Ivar offered the best explanation he could think of. His teeth clashed together in anger.

“At this point,” Hvitserk rubbed his forehead with exasperation. “I don’t care. It doesn’t really matter how she knew. All that matters is that she probably beat us to that locker and took everything that was inside.”

“When was the last time you saw her?” Ivar found it uncomfortable to ask Hvitserk that question because he truly didn’t want to know.

“Last night. She slept in my room.”

“Meaning you slept withher,” Ivar emphasized and rolled his eyes.

Hvitserk ignored his bitter comment.

“You know there’s something I still don’t understand.”

“And what’s that?”

“If you guys slept around so much, she could’ve easily taken the key when you weren’t looking. Why did she have to wait a whole fucking month?”

Hvitserk straightened up in his seat and looked at Ivar with a strange expression. “Uhh... Well... Before Y/N left this morning, she told me something...”

Ivar raised an eyebrow urging him on. “Go on.”

“I mean...” Hvitserk exhaled and grimaced slightly. “You really wanna know? I know you fell for her, brother...”

“Didn’t you?” Ivar deflected swiftly with a quick scoff.

Hvitserk shook his head calmly. “No. She was just great in bed. Although I can’t really blame you.” His tone was much softer than before.

Ivar glanced at the dirty dishes in front of them and wished with every bone in his body that Hvitserk would remove his eyes from his face so he could bask alone in his shame. “So, what did Y/N say?”

“She told me that she liked me a lot but that it was time we stopped seeing each other for good. Maybe... maybe she wasn’t ready to let go before?”

“Are you implying that she didn’t leave before because she fell in love with your pathetic ass?”

“Maybe... I don’t know.” Hvitserk heard Ivar's choice of words very well but he didn’t insult him back. He rarely took the bait anymore.

The fact that Hvitserk’s voice hid no hint of arrogance or pride anymore only made it worse because that meant he was being sincere.

“Or maybe...” Ivar spat back with animosity. “Maybe she was just a sadistic cunt that enjoyed playing with us until she got bored.”

Hvitserk shrugged. “Perhaps...”

“In any case, we need to find out where she is now.”

“So, call her!”

Ivar put a hand inside his pocket and clawed around until he produced his phone. He dialed the number and waited, fingers trembling with rage.

“You have reached a number that has been disconnected. If you feel this is an error, please check the number and try again.”

They exchanged a look, seemingly reading each other’s minds. Ivar threw a bill on the table and they hurried to get to their car.

Yet it was useless. They searched for her in her house but she was nowhere to be found. The neighbors swore they hadn’t seen her so they rushed to the car again until they reached their home. Even though they knew that technically, ever since Y/N signed those papers, everything they owned had ceased being theirs, nobody prepared them for the sight of the bare walls of their house.

There was a big crew working diligently to empty the mansion of all the furniture and art pieces. Their clothes hung from movable racks and every utensil, down to the most insignificant silver fucking spoon was packed in boxes.

“Ivar and Hvitserk Lothbrok?” A stuck-up-looking guy with a load of documents in his hand addressed them.

“Yes?” Ivar answered since his brother was too occupied staring ahead as if he’d fallen into a trance.

“Ms. Y/N Y/L/N sold your house and will be keeping all the profits since, as you know, the property belongs to her. You can come to collect your personal belongings at this warehouse tomorrow. Along with the deed to your new house.” He produced an ivory-white card with the name of his company on it.

“H-house? What house?” Hvitserk finally pulled himself together for long enough to stutter out a question.

“As this document states, this house is located in...” The real estate agent ran his index finger over the paper searching for more details. “...in Kattegat.” He stated plainly.

Ivar couldn’t believe his ears, his voice raising considerably high. “You mean, father’s abandoned farm in the middle of fucking nowhere? The one that smells like cow piss and pig shit?”

The man raised an eyebrow sternly. “Oh, so you already know the house, that’s great. Y/N specified that the cottage was to be your only part of the inheritance.”

Ivar took a shaky step back in surprise, his legs wobbling in the process when thinking about how that nasty hateful woman had managed to utterly destroy their lives in less than a month.

“Now, could you kindly exit this estate? You’re trespassing on private property. Thank you.”

~~·······~~

Y/N’s POV

Dear diary,

I realized last night that I had been avoiding taking the painting because I was afraid of what I could find. But it was time to face the truth and unfortunately, I also had to say goodbye to my boy toys.

It took me less effort than I expected to find that locker. I made my way to the biggest bank in the city and once there, everything was easy. I just had to show them the key and the inheritance certificate and they led me into a room where the big bulletproof box was set in front of me. It felt cold and lifeless. The metal walls of the room with no windows made me feel like a caged criminal. Some probably would say that of me, but I’m only reclaiming what I’m owed.

My restlessness was evident in the way that my hands were trembling and my legs felt spongy.

I popped the lid open and I saw that the box was almost empty. Just a few stacks of money, some pieces of jewelry, and two yellowed letters.

One was already open and I recognized my own handwriting. But the other envelope was brown and the writing had faded, barely readable anymore but I would recognize Ragnar’s handwriting anywhere in a pinch.

I took the first letter and eyed the familiar words.

~~·······~~

Dear Ragnar,

I hope you are doing well. I saw the contact details from your company in an ad. So, I decided to take a chance to tell you everything that’s on my mind since you disappeared overnight and I never heard from you again.

I know about Aslaug and her rich daddy. I know marrying her must’ve seemed like too perfect an opportunity to pass up but you owe me an explanation, Ragnar.

You know very well that all that you achieved at first was because I used my magic skills in your favor. When no one else believed in your dreams, you turned to me for aid. Don’t forget that it was me the one who helped you build your empire before you turned greedy and married that pale emaciated chick. And don’t forget that I was the one who satisfied your every addiction, with my herbs and with my body, just the way you liked it.

You once promised me that you would never leave me. That you would always be by my side.And then you failed me.

I’ll never forget how you told me that I was your Valhalla on earth.

So, I’m waiting for you, my love.

With love,

Y/N

~~·······~~

I wrote that letter years ago, just a few months after he left me and I’m still as empty as I was back then. My tears fell one by one on the sheet of paper and the letters in them dissolved. Reading these lines again hurt. I felt the same sorrow as I did then until my tears of sadness turned into tears of anger.

Then I blew the dirt away, read my name at the top of the second letter, and started reading with eager eyes and an accelerated heart.

~~·······~~

Dear Y/N,

I never forgot about all of those words. You were the best thing that ever happened to me but you have to understand that I had to think of things to come. I wanted my future sons to be the emperors of a world that I would carve for them. I wanted the Lothbrok name to go down in history. And Aslaug was a necessary part of it.

But I regret all of it now. I see that perhaps it’s best if they make their own path. I regret ever leaving you and I’m sorry for the pain that I caused you. That’s why I’ve decided to leave everything to you once I die, in the hopes that I can right the wrongs I did and that you will someday forgive me. Please, treat my sons kindly. They don’t deserve to pay for my mistakes. I know you will do the right thing and not leave them in complete destitution.

My heart will always belong to you, Y/N.

All my love,

Ragnar

~~·······~~

Ragnar thought that by leaving me all of his money I would forgive him for his abandonment. But even though I love him, I could never forgive him. He was a simple and humble farmer, but greed corrupted him; it made his soul fester inside. And when he left, my heart turned to ashes. I thought I could feel something for Hvitserk but I was wrong. It’s impossible for me to love anyone ever again.

Ragnar is still a coward to me. He just used me to get high, or whenever he needed a good fuck. He exchanged me for the pretty daughter of some wealthy art collector who would help him get access to the highest corners of society. In my book, that could only mean that he never cared about me at all.

He chose to discard me like a used doll as if he hadn’t spent the longest days in my bed, consuming every intoxicating herb and exotic potion that I put in front of him, and loving every second of it. Ragnar fucked the best whenever he was high, and lucky for me, in those days, he was always high.

I played the same trick on the boys I used on Ragnar. Seeing my naked body and perfectly rounded breasts always got him in the perfect mood and he could only focus on me, forgetting about everything around him.

He never wanted his new family to know about us because I was the one supplying him with his drugs and his good luck. But he never saw me as a necessary part of his life. I don’t understand why I had so much faith in him. How could I be so stupid?

Ivar and Hvitserk deserve to suffer. Since I can’t make Ragnar bend over in agony, they will pay in his place. I will call my lawyer and by the time they get home, they will be out in the streets.

I will never regret any of the things I did. They had to be done. Unfortunately, I will be too far away to see the stupid look on their faces when they realize that our old muddy farm, where Ragnar and I used to live when we were younger, is the only thing they will get to keep. Hard work and misery are the only things they will know from now on...

My name is Y/N, and this is the story of how I ruined the Lothbrok dynasty.

#ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson #ivar the boneless x reader #hvitserk #hvitserk ragnarsson #hvitserk x reader #kattegat

[blacknailpolishonguitarstrings]

The irony of white lilies

CW: funeral, mention of death, hate of a loved one

Bright golden sun, radiant blue sky, fluffy white clouds, joyful chirping birds, colourful blooming flowers, iridescent dew drops sliding off waxy green leaves, sweet scents of freshly-baked bread and pastries wafting through the fresh morning air… all of it was too much for Remus. It was too pretty, too happy, too good to be true. London was never this beautiful. Of course, the one day where it was had to be the funeral of his three best friends and his relationship with the one person he had loved more than anything else. He looked at himself in the narrow mirror in the hallway: tall, slim, long gangly limbs drowning in a dark brown suit, the only one he owned, which was slightly too large for him, mousy brown hair strands hanging limply over his face and having lost their golden shine, honey brown greenish eyes shadowed by dark rings, and pale, ashy skin stricken with several old silvery scars and a couple of fresh pink ones. The mirror reflected the ghost of a person, a mere shadow of who he was before. In the top right corner of the reflective glass, five words and a name were hastily written in black marker. The letters were perfectly shaped, curved in elegant lines, clear and regular, so very different from Remus’ own scrawny, barely readable handwriting. It was unmistakably Sirius’ handwriting through and through, remnants of his aristocratic past clear as day. And it read:

“I love you, remember me

-Sirius”

It was nothing more than a mere note, a regular thing Sirius did, nothing out of the usual, and yet, it was as if he had known what would happen, as if…

“As if he had planned it all along,” Remus realised. Ragingly, he whipped the glass with his long, frayed sleeve, attempting to erase the message before his eyes, from existence, from his memory, but the letters wouldn’t even smudge. Huffing in frustration, he grabbed his wand, before stomping out of the apartment, slamming the door shut behind himself.

“Colloportus,” he whispered sharply, waving at the lock briefly with his hand.

The air around him crackled quietly, buzzing with the magic that escaped the howling wolf inside him, are emotions and uncontrollable feelings ruling over his entire being, brimming with pure power. Remus ran down the stairs, ducking out of the building, and slipped into a nearby foul-smelling alley, shadowed by the silhouettes of the tall houses surrounding it. Hiding behind a dumpster, he Apparated away with a loud crack.

***

The fields surrounding the Potter’s barndominium swayed in the fresh autumn wind, grass blades rustling softly as the last few flowers undulated and bent over under the pressure of harsher gusts of cold air. Not far from him, about 50 meters or so away, a group of people clad in black clothes stood amongst pristine white chairs. An altar of some sort crowned with a plethora of flowers stood proudly above them, a few long ribbons of white silk swaying in the wind over the guests. Ridiculously, it looked almost like the preparations of a wedding ceremony instead of a funeral, full of decorations and extravaganza.

“The entire opposite of what James and Lily would have wanted,” Remus thought, scoffing, before making his way over to the small crowd, striding through the tall yellowy dried out grass.

No one noticed him when he approached the congregation, all too busy talking in hushed whispers amongst themselves or staring at the front towards the flowered altar. Remus recognised a couple of faces here and there, some Professors from Hogwarts, some people he remembered having seen at Fleamont’s and Euphemia’s glorious and colourful Christmas parties, and a few students he had attended Hogwarts with. Order members were stationed in several places, milling around the mourners, stances guarded and wands drawn. Now more than ever, the aftermath of the War hung heavy in the air, looming darkly over everyone’s minds, deemed finished yet never entirely gone. Clenched fists stuffed in his pockets, Remus hung back a little, staying at the back of the crowd, observing everyone carefully and nodding to the occasional acquaintance who caught his eye. Something about the atmosphere felt very off and erroneous, yet he couldn’t quite place his finger upon it thus far. Suddenly, the loud telltale crack of Apparition cut sharply through the muffled conversations, and Dumbledore appeared in the middle of the funeral, exceedingly dramatic. Everything quieted down as he swept the crowd with his bright blue eyes, staring half-pensively half-gravely at everyone behind his half-moon spectacles. Finally, after a few strangely agonisingly long seconds, he turned around swiftly in a swish of robes and walked up to the altar on which lay James and Lily’s lifeless bodies. While Dumbledore waved briefly at the gathered attendance, gesturing for them to sit down on the white wooden chairs, Remus only had eyes for the cadavers of his two best friends, allowing himself to really look for the first time. They laid side by side, dressed in pristine softly shimmering silk white robes as if it were their wedding day, surrounded by wreaths of white lilies. James’ dark caramel skin and black curls and Lily’s auburn hair stood out drastically against the pureness of their milieu. Eyes closed faces relaxed and serene, they almost looked like a pair of coloured porcelain dolls that had been deposited on an elaborate flowerbed. Neither of them seemed dead, on the contrary, it was as if they were plunged in nothing more but deep, tranquil sleep, away from everything, at peace. Unable to bear it any longer, Remus turned away, biting his trembling lip as he watched the grass continue to sway softly. The sickeningly sweet smell of lilies was carried to him by the wind. A small, ironic smile bordering on slightly crazed stretched across his thin lips as his face contorted into a tight, pained grimace.

“Lily hated lilies, especially white lilies,” he thought with morbid amusement.

Behind him, the people had ceased to shuffle around and settled in their chairs. Dumbledore coughed lightly, and Remus glanced back, locking eyes with him. A rush of anger surged inside of him, though he did not know exactly why. The old man must have perceived it somehow, maybe seen the raging flare in his eyes, because after a few seconds, he lowered his eyes, gazing instead at the guests.

“Ladies, gentlemen,” he began, “we are gathered here today to honour James and Lily Potter, who unfortunately and tragically lost their lives far too soon on the grim night that was the 31st of October 1981. Both Lily and James were remarkable people, praised both in magical and emotional domains by many. They were caring and loving people, who brought much new to better the world we live in. I would thus like to go back on some of the deeds James and Lily Potter accomplished in their noble, albeit short lives, to mourn them in a celebration of them rather than in wallowing in sadness, reminiscing what we lost. I knew James and Lily as students under my care at Hogwarts first and foremost, but they revealed to be dear friends as they grew older. I remember the first day…”

The words blurred in Remus’ ears, sounding meaningless and hollow, empty, almost…false, if one would dare to call them as such. They did not appear to hold any real value, and as speaker after speaker would pronounce their own valedictory, Remus doubted more and more whether these people actually knew or cared about James and Lily. All they ever seemed to remember was how good of a witch Lily was considering she was a Muggleborn, how wonderful of a Potioneer she was, how spectacular and outstanding James’ Quidditch skills were, how pleasant of a boy he was even if rather mischievous, and on and on and on. It was incredibly and unexpectedly painful for Remus, to whom Lily and James meant so much more than that, to hear people deliver such vain and barren speeches.

“They deserve better than a listing of their accomplishments, Lily and James deserve better,” he thought ragingly.

All throughout, he noticed Minerva, who sat quietly at the first row, only distinguishable from this far by her telltale pointy black hat, remained quiet. Remus deemed it rather surprising, but paid it no real mind, knowing she must have her reasons. Ever since the war, that peculiar bond they had formed on his very first day when she welcomed him had strengthened, grown into something deeper, maybe a friendship. Minerva McGonagall was probably one of the last few remaining people Remus still trusted. Finally, the tall, thin, balding man whose name Remus had failed to catch finished talking with a mere “We will miss them”, and Dumbledore walked up to the small stage once more.

“Before we bid farewell to our dear friends forever, does anyone else wish to speak?”

After a brief moment of hesitation, Remus walked up to him from the back of the gathering.

“Yes, Professor, there are some things I would like to mention before we let go of James and Lily, some things I believe they would have liked to hear,” he started, nodded faintly.

The gathered witches and wizards watched him expectantly, mistrust painted on the faces of a few at the sight of a skinny, tall, scarred, and shabbily dressed young man.

“Lily Evans hated lilies you know, James learned that the hard way in 5th year when she threw the humongous bouquet he had offered her in an attempt to woo her right at his face. Some said Lily could have been a fine Chaser with such precision of throw. James later learned that the way to Lily’s heart was blush roses. Anyhow, I believe it is time we change…this,” he said gesturing vaguely at the extravagant decorations, a slight moue of disgust forming on his bony face.

Whispering an incantation, he waved his wand briefly in the air and the lilies disappeared in a light poof of sparkles, replaced by creamy white roses with very faint blush pink cores.

“Better isn’t it?” he asked rhetorically, laughing a little to himself at the disbelieving looks painted on some of the elder witches and wizards. “Lily and James were two very special and talented people as you all already mentioned, but to me, they were important in a very different way, I remember them for other reasons which I believe, are just as significant. Lily Evans Potter and James Potter were two of the very first people who made me feel safe and welcomed, who made me feel truly loved, who made me feel at home. I trusted them with my life, and I still would if they were among us. I could spend hours here in front of you, telling you hundreds of stories about them, both sad and happy, about the time James fell off his broom into the Black Lake while attempting to impress Lily with some crazy stunt, about the time Lily was paired up with James in Potions and nearly died of stress and frustration, considering James was practically hopeless at Potions. I could tell you about the time they had a picnic under the stars at the top of the Astronomy Tower and Si…”

Remus choked on the word, feeling his throat tighten around it, refusing to let it go.

“And some friends and I,” he continued, sighing shakily, “found them and scared them into believing there was a ghost haunting them, although it was James who was more afraid if truth be told, Lily was too busy laughing and making fun of him.”

Some people in the audience cracked a faint smile at that.

“What I mean to say is, we can remember Lily and James for the many deeds they accomplished during their lives and for the wonderful stories we have of them. But we could also simply remember them as wonderful people who worked tirelessly to be good and make this world a little brighter, as people who cared for and loved everyone who was in need, as people who always strived to be a better version of themselves. I saw James and Lily as examples of kindness we should all attempt to live up to, and it is how I wish to remember them. I…”

Remus didn’t know what else to say, it felt like he had shared so much already, yet spoken so little of them, and none of the things swirling in his confused mind right now felt right to share with these strangers. It was simply too much, he wasn’t even sure he had already accepted the deaths of his friends, a part of him was still in deep denial, believing hopelessly and foolishly that neither James nor Lily nor Peter were gone, that it was all a terrible nightmare he would wake up soon from. Sirius wasn’t even worth mentioning anymore, he couldn’t think about him. Not today, when his focus should be entirely on Lily and James. From the first row, Remus saw Minerva smile at him gently, tears streaming down her wrinkled cheeks which appeared so pale against the darkness of her robes. He mustered a faint mirthless smile in response, before turning away, tears welling in his eyes. Desperately, he clenched his fists, digging his fingernails into the calloused skin of his palms, trying to distract himself with the sharp pain, doing anything just to forget what was going on around him. He left the stage like that, and walked away from the ceremony, refusing to turn back again, even though he felt a sharp stare drilling holes into his back. Dumbledore probably. Finally, he stopped and willed himself to glance back at least one last time at the lifeless bodies of his friends. At that precise moment, Dumbledore waved his wand, and the flower bed went up in silvery-white crackling flames. Only two white marble caskets remained when they died away. The charred petals of white roses which had burned in the fire softly twirled down on the stone, gentle and dead.

#marauders fanfiction #jily #remus lupin #angst

[kwantified]

내일 봐 - lee taeyong

pairing: tattooartist!taeyong x genderneutral!reader, exhighschoolsweetheart!au genre: FLUFF, angst if you squint a bit, slice of life word count: 3.6k synopsis: as lee taeyong counts the days until he brings his tattoo studio to seoul, he finds that life might have additional plans for him. lowercase intended.

note: the title can be translated to “see you tomorrow” from korean :) p.s., happy belated birthday, taeyong!

1/3 OF THE INKLING STUDIOS MINISERIES - MASTERLIST

SEOUL, THREE AM.

you give the dark tea another stir before handing it to taeyong.

“i still can’t believe you turned up at my place at three in the morning.”

“long time no see to you too.” the man is sitting on your couch, nodding as if tipping a nonexistent hat.

the air is thin and quiet, the humid summer rain giving a coolness to the endless heat from earlier in the day. you can’t tell what you’re feeling right now, as you’ve just been awakened by what you initially thought was a stranger.

but lee taeyong was no stranger.

“so, welcome to seoul,” you breathe, lazily leaning onto the arm of the couch, your legs folded to your chest.

there’s a whiff of awkwardness in the conversation (probably because it’s literally three in the morning) but you ignore it. just like how you willingly ignore your need to go back to sleep for some man you could call your highschool sweetheart.

what a hopeless romantic, you thought.

yet, today, you find that hopeless romantics aren’t completely hopeless. hopeless romantics like taeyong seem to come back with new clothes, brighter hair, and a new sleeve of art on their right arm. hopeless romantics like taeyong seem to come back sporting personalised baggage and gucci belts while still respecting the slides they owned in high school. hopeless romantics like taeyong seem to act like seven years are two seconds but treat the four hours between breakfast and lunch like a whole decade.

he hasn’t changed a bit.

as taeyong gets comfortable in the safety of your grey, cushioned couch, you take turns with him sharing random moments in your seven years apart from each other, filling each other in on the gap of time.

soon, it’s five in the morning, and you’re making a third cup of tea.

“hey,” you speak, breaking a bit of the silence in the room, “what made you text me?”

taeyong leans back into the arm of the couch and brings his backpack to his stomach, quickly taking out a number of envelopes.

“i found these,” taeyong holds them up with a hand, “three days ago.”

THREE DAYS TO SEOUL, and lee taeyong hasn’t started packing his bags. he’s in his flat, a pair of sweats and a loose tee oddly matching his pink cotton candy hair. now he stands in his bare room, the wall decor and furniture already packed and shipped over the globe. in the corner of the room lay the bed that came with the place, seemingly blending into the faded white walls of the room.

across the bed was his wardrobe, half-empty and left with a collection of sweatpants, sweatshirts, and jewellery. with the large suitcase open wide in the middle of the living room, taeyong’s slender figure leans on one of the doors of the wardrobe, staring into the assortment of sewn fabrics on the shelves of the wardrobe like working on a sudoku puzzle.

with a deep breath, taeyong slowly begins to look through his clothes, folding them from their hangers and transporting them from his bedroom to the large suitcase in his living room. starting from the jewellery he hid in various hoodie and sweatpants pockets to the five pairs of shoes he’d have to wrap with extra bubble wrap, packing was no easy feat.

but of course, he had to pack. it wasn’t hard; it was tedious. knowing that he wanted to get it over with to make room for relaxation for his last two days in this city, taeyong had tried to suppress any urges to try on a lost pair of earrings or reminisce on the story behind an old hoodie.

yet all that flew away when he found a small bunch of papers stowed away at the bottom of one of his hoodie drawers, the faded ink still resembling handwriting he so easily recognised.

yours.

when you had left to seoul for college seven years ago, taeyong remembers how you promised to send him letters every third sunday of each month. it went on for a year, and now in his hands he held eleven opened envelopes (apparently one of them got lost in shipping).

the envelopes were always the same; beige with old-fashioned bamboo illustrations on the bottom left corner, decorated with a long strip of green washi tape at the top, wrapping it around the envelope twice to make sure nothing would fall out.

as taeyong peers into one of the identical envelopes, he finds that you hadn’t just sent letters. you sent old concert tickets, used bus passes, and vanishing receipts. he could barely read any of the tickets or receipts, but when he found that you had sent a polaroid on one of them, taeyong found his heart pulling at the sight of a younger you.

the polaroid was taken in july six years ago, the month taeyong turned nineteen. it was you, seated in a dim lit restaurant with your new friends, a drink in hand and eyes to the camera. looking at the polaroid, he could make out the faint sound of your laugh in his ears, recalling how you’d clutch your stomach and throw your head back.

taeyong chuckles at the remnants he has of you, and he skims through the letters you sent. each month told him the most random encounters and happenings in your daily life, so much so that it felt like listening on a genuine conversation when reading your letters. taeyong suddenly remembers that he had sent letters in reply when a number of your letters started mentioning things that happened to him while he was in art school, making him scoff at how romantically old-fashioned the two of you insisted on being.

taeyong smiles warmly as his slim fingers carefully fold back the tenth letter into its envelope, taking the eleven packages in one hand and placing them back where he found them.

until he finds another one.

this time, rather than beige, it’s pink; almost orange. no washi tape around the top of bamboo illustrations, just two barely readable addresses and his name. it’s sealed, and although the feeling of it is new, he could tell by the ruined writing and the stiff texture that it had been wet, dry, crinkled, and straight.

so taeyong furrows his eyebrows in surprise before carefully slipping a fingernail between the sealed folds of the envelope in an attempt to open it cleanly. inside, he finds nothing more than what he’s already found before; tickets, pictures, and a letter. this time, the letter is short and written on a faded cream notepad, ripped at the top.

rough ride through shipping, it seems.

when taeyong reads it, he finds that the stains from the front of the page had gone all the way through the ink on the letter as well. he could read nothing. while it was unclear why he hadn’t opened the letter before, it seemed that it was the last letter of the year.

taeyong’s eyes try their best to perform some sort of inhuman scanning (it doesn’t work) only to find a sequence of numbers and a five-letter sentence at the edge of the paper, right before you signed your name: “meet me in seoul someday.”

taeyong sighs at the sentiment, knowing that even he had forgot about you amidst those years. and if he, some imaginative hopeless romantic, forgot, then what would that make you? you two had lost contact so naturally that one might have thought it was fate. 

he’s sure you’ve fallen in love with someone in the span of those seven years, yet a small excitement pooled in his stomach. he doesn’t know if you’ll still call him yours.

but he can try.

with that, taeyong saves the number on the paper and texts a quiet “hey”, fingers crossed in hoping that you still used that number.

he couldn’t believe it when you called him that day.

TWO DAYS TO SEOUL, and the thought of lee taeyong has just crossed your mind for the umpteenth time today.

you had called him all of last night after receiving a short “hey” in text, followed by an “it’s lee taeyong”. while your initial reaction was pleasant surprise, you’re not sure why your heart has begun to swell every time you hear the same ding on your phone at the thought of your so-called high school sweetheart (you have to constantly remind yourself that there’s sixteen-hour time difference between you and him).

you feel sixteen again. 

and you come to wonder why - at first glance, lee taeyong doesn’t seem to be the romantic type. with his bright pink hair and right sleeve full of colourful tattoos, the man carries himself with a striking presence, a sharp voice, and sharper eyes. yet, there’s a quiet delicateness that is almost always overlooked.

almost.

it’s a long story, but you had always seen him around since you moved from seoul to portland in middle school. he was in your mandarin class, and for a year you remembered him as the boy who’d sneak in korean words in a “chinese” accent to cover up any vocabulary he didn’t know. it was funny, really, until the school switched your then indifferent mandarin teacher with a younger, more adamant man in his mid-thirties.

you didn’t see taeyong for a while after the seventh grade. it was only until the first day of your second semester, freshman year of high school, that he walked in with his now trademark pink hair. you remember everyone in your friend group whispering little sentences between is he allowed to do that? and looks like an alien as a way to cover up that, really, he just looked super cool.

and super intimidating, all of a sudden.

suddenly everyone had noticed him, and yet even less people wanted to talk to him. countless rumours went around, of course, but you could only remember the craziest three off the top of your head: one, he had fucked the new visual arts teacher into giving him an a+ all throughout sophomore year (he always went to the art room after school hours for some reason); two, he worked at one of the strip clubs downtown because one time he turned up to class with a full vintage balenciaga getup that cost more than 4000 dollars (you still weren’t sure how much the staff at strip clubs made, but you almost believed it); three, he had a big, fat crush on the school’s basketball team captain, james ramos (in retrospect, you think it might have been james who had a crush on taeyong - after all, james was the one constantly calling on taeyong).

you didn’t think much of the rumours until you had to spend an awful lot of time with him in the art room after school, when one assignment in visual arts had you feeling stumped. knowing your parents, they weren’t going to let you off so easily, especially for art, as they deemed it one of the “easier subjects”.

from slowly getting to know him, you learned that he had an a+ in art class because of the way he somehow managed to turn traditional techniques into something of his own; that his vintage balenciagas were actually hand me downs he altered from his mom; and that james ramos had tried to kiss him after a district match, and when taeyong politely declined, james felt the sudden need to point fingers at taeyong.

above all the rumours, taeyong was a good friend.

taeyong made you remember all the afternoons cooped up in the shadow-paned art room, the orange sunset crossing his face with soft streaks of faded sunlight. taeyong made sure you had something to munch on while you were working, and taeyong was there to understand your work when it felt like everyone else including yourself despised every stroke and splash on the canvas.

and even after you had let your disappointment wash away in your painting that term, you still stayed by the art room. some days he would be on his nintendo 3ds, and some days he’d sneak in warm pretzels that made the paints smell like cheese and cinnamon the following week.

taeyong was a good friend. 

he was a friend until one chilly afternoon brought your lips to his and he did what you thought would never happen: he kissed you back. he held your jaw gently with his fingers while his other hand circled around your wrist, keeping you with him in a moment you still didn’t feel was real. you remember his mouth had tasted of the chocolate you had dipped your churros in, the awkward moulding of your lips bearable because your heart was beating a mile a minute and you could care less about a sloppy kiss.

everything and nothing changed since then: you kept eating pretzels inside the art room, he kept playing his nintendo 3ds; but there was a little rush that came into your chest whenever you saw him across the hall or in class. slowly, walking side-by-side turned into intertwined hands and goodbye hugs turned into goodbye kisses, and that was when he asked you out. 

of course, the art room wasn’t your dating spot to do whatever you pleased. inevitably, more and more kids needed to use the art room. 

but as soon as you started to feel bummed out about it, you found taeyong waiting by your seventh period class, ready to take you downtown. and it just became like that.

it was unknown cafés, study dates and city lights all year round. he would take you to art exhibitions and say nothing before he’d walk you home just to climb through your window two hours later. and you remember specifically, while he laid on your bed, staring at the dim glow-in-the-dark stars on your ceiling, he poured out all his hopes and dreams for the future: ones full of colour and freedom and artistry. he told it slow, and he told it all. 

he told you while he dozed off into sleep, his arm tucking you right next to him as his drowsy words faded into your bedroom.

now, when he tells you he’s bringing his tattoo studio across the globe, you can’t stop the wide smile that spreads itself across your face. and when he asks to stay over at your place for his first week in the city, your mind starts to unpack all the feelings you had stowed away for so long.

and you can’t get him out of your mind.

ONE DAY TO SEOUL, and lee taeyong is starting to think his coming to seoul is just the universe’s way of making him come back to you.

with your letters in his backpack and his phone in his pocket, taeyong wanders the airport’s transit area in search of a vending machine for some chips. he’s all too familiar with the blue carpet and metal seats, and it’s not because he’s travelled - it’s because of you.

it’s weird, he thinks, so many things he sees on a daily basis now remind him of you. first it was his phone, then his hoodie, and now this entire airport terminal. he’s nervous for seoul, mostly because of his studio, but there’s always that light heaviness in his chest when you come across his mind. 

the only memories he has of you are those where you were eighteen and a fresh high school graduate, spending the summer at his place almost every day to make up for your inevitable break up. 

looking at you - or, what he remembers of you - he knew everything was changing. or at least, about to. high school sweethearts and all, he knew you were prepared to want to forget about him. you were prepared to be shipped off to seoul, the breakup conversation leaving nothing but a short and bitter aftertaste before freedom washed over.

you never were prepared.

maybe somewhere along the line you two made the compromise that didn’t give you the need to be prepared. you could stay - get admitted into the same school as he did, live together, work together. but who was taeyong to suddenly change all you’ve told your parents the day you arrived in portland? you weren’t going to art school. life wasn’t a movie, and taeyong truly cursed it for not being one.

taeyong shrugs his thoughts away as he nears a vending machine on the outside of the gate, wallet clutched in hand. though it was a bit disappointing that they didn’t have the sour cream chips he was going for, the man opted for some water to make him feel a little less dead after all that flying.

when taeyong walks back to his seat, he finds that the reason why he remembers you so much lies on the tip of his tongue, but he’s not sure if he wants to admit it just yet.

it does make him think a bit. he’s been with people after you, yet there just seemed to be something different when it came to you. taeyong thinks it’s just first-love residue, and he’s probably right, but what’s the shame in basking in cheesy letters and nostalgia? 

technically, you two never broke up, never said goodbye, never saw each other again. one day you were waking up in his room on a summer morning, and the next, you were waking up at an airport, alone, never getting the chance to truly say goodbye. a familiar frustration comes back to taeyong’s gut as he wonders what could have been had your parents not dragged you on an earlier flight without his or your knowledge.

a loud announcement is heard through the room, interrupting taeyong’s thoughts. his second flight has been delayed for another two hours. 

taeyong takes his phone out of his pocket, checking the time. great. jet-lagged, half-awake, and hungry.

“whatever,” taeyong mutters under his breath, shoving all those stray feelings in the back of his head. taeyong decides he’d rather deal with them when he actually sees you in person. for now, rest.

but he can’t sleep, so instead he unlocks his phone, and to his surprise, he finds a text from you:

“see you tomorrow :)”

SEOUL, SIX AM.

taeyong finds that there isn’t much of a difference between high school you and adult you. maybe there is, and taeyong hasn’t noticed yet through his jet-lag.

but he knows you.

slowly, taeyong stands from his seat on the couch and walks towards the kitchen, where you were making yourself another cup of tea. his presence is noticeable, and though it’s new, it’s far from uncomfortable. you carry on, taking the jar of sugar from a cupboard, feeling him lean on the table right behind you. 

“how’s your studio?” you chirp, starting conversation.

you hear him stir, “i’m going to the building tomorrow,” he begins, “i’ve been in contact with some of the staff for a while now, so i’m hoping everything just goes as planned.”

as you watch the sugar dissolve into the tea, you take the cup in both your hands, “maybe i could visit sometime? i’ve never-”

you turn around to find taeyong standing only inches away from you. you freeze momentarily, eyes looking into his, your speech cutting mid-sentence. he stands idly, shoulders relaxed, and starts to look down at the dark liquid in your cup, watching it whir slowly. you follow his gaze before picking up your sentence, “i’ve never gotten a tattoo before.”

shyly, you brush it off and slowly walk out of the kitchen. taeyong purses his lips.

“i could take you with me tomorrow.”

you stop in your steps. your feel your cheekbones raise at his words, and you find yourself turning back to him. the interaction is stiff, but with every step towards the man you decide it’s both far too late and far too early to be worrying about that. 

so you kiss him. sweetly.

reminiscent of your first kiss with him, he kisses back, his fingertips ghosting the side of your jaw, leaning into your faint touch. it’s fresh, and this time, it isn’t sloppy. he kisses you softly, his lips carrying experience and a humble confidence not found seven years ago.

when you pull away, you’re glad you hadn’t spilled your tea all over his and your shirt, your tongue gliding over your bottom lip as if processing the kiss.

“it’s been a while, huh?” you joke, feeling a blush rise up in your cheeks, and taeyong laughs along.

“i still can’t believe i’m really here with you,” taeyong says, holding you closer. you only hope he feels the same warmth you’re feeling in your chest. 

there’s so much more you want to tell taeyong, and some part of you is convinced you should stay up and skip work for the day just for him. 

but right now, between having too many words and none at all, you settle for four.

“i’ve missed you too.”

#taeyong x reader #nct 127 imagines #nct 127 fic #nct 127 fluff #taeyong fluff #nct 127 #nct #nct-writers #lee taeyong #nct 127 au #highschool au #taeyong angst #taeyong imagines #taeyong fic #nct taeyong fic #nct taeyong imagines #nct taeyong #taeyong tattoo artist #tattoo artist au #inkling studios #moon taeil #johnny suh #nakamoto yuta #kim doyoung #jung jaehyun #kim jungwoo #mark lee #lee haechan #ty lee #ugh not my best work