#i’m having heart palipitations.

[gardenofnoah]

drowning in it

oooooOOOO he was not in the last episode but he was in my heart and that's what counts. i've had one single paragraph from this in the wips for months and it wasn't even supposed to be about shouto but i was down to clown and now i give you this. wc: 2.2k cw: some mentions of childhood abuse/neglect (shouto), very much fluff, reader has an unspecified quirk

Shouto was not, despite all that he was, quick to catch on.

You couldn't blame him. You'd been the best of friends since childhood—the quiet, brooding boy in class quickly became the target of your attentions, and—as he began to allow it—your affections. Even as children, you saw a need to coddle him, to look after him—there was no one doing it at home, after his mother was sent away. Although he did not indulge you with what did happen at home, the bruises and fatigue he wore like a second skin told you enough.

You'd bring him extra fruit or small bowls of rice that you could sneak out of your mother's kitchen. And after your mother caught you doing that (and promptly scolded you for not telling her sooner), she'd sent you with a second lunch to school everyday. The two of you would sit underneath the flowering trees and eat—in silence most days, but sometimes you would chat about your school work or your future plans. His aspirations never changed—he wanted to be a hero. The greatest. Over the years, you'd wondered—the greatest to whom?

There was no need to ask. You spared him the pain of having to answer.

You'd been a constant in each other's lives since then. You'd grown up together, way too fast—you'd both felt the lasting scars of living through war, physically and mentally, and you leaned on one another. After graduation, you decided to move in together. It really was never a discussion—school ended, Shouto texted you a link to a vacant apartment listing, and you both moved in. It had been just the two of you since then, albeit in a roomier apartment now. The money came with the climb in ranks, and you now overlooked the entirety of Musutafu. The sight often had you reeling. Shouto was something grounding. A reminder of where you'd been.

Now, both working as full-time heroes, you were like a well-oiled machine. During a battle, it was hard to know where you ended and he began. You were not his sidekick—you were his equal. So it was unsurprising to all when you opened up your own agency together. You spent most of your days together—most missions you did in tandem, but there were some that were better suited to Shouto's quirk or to yours. In those cases, you'd be apart—and you felt every stinging second of it.

You weren't sure when your feelings became more than what you'd consider appropriate for a friendship. You'd always had a close relationship—when he finally allowed physical contact when you were children, he didn't let you stop. He was constantly making sure he was in your reach—playing with your fingers when you'd walk side by side to lunch, leaning on your shoulder during a lag in the fighting over the years, now resting his cheek on top of your head as you watched a movie on your couch. He'd always called you by pet names, terms of endearment—you never questioned it. There was a part of you that wanted it that way—a part way larger than you were willing to admit.

But it was different now. The brush of his fingers against your scalp by way of a greeting sent a shock up ever nerve in your body. The drawl of his voice in the morning settled in your gut and writhed. You'd watch him, sometimes—eyes tracing the angles of his face and the line that differentiated him. You weren't able, despite your best efforts, to stop your face from flushing when he'd catch you.

Today was no different. You hadn't looked away fast enough, and immediately you regretted it.

"Are you sick?" he asked you, reaching out to grab your chin, turning your face so he could study you. You held back a groan.

"What?"

"You're hot. Are you not feeling well?"

You could've laughed. You could've cried. You might've done both, if the mortification of being caught hadn't taken over.

"No. I don't know," you mumbled out, kicking yourself for the non-answer that he surely would pick up on.

And he sure did.

"No, you don't know?"

"I just," you started, feeling the exasperation crawling up your spine, "didn't sleep well, probably."

"Do you want to take a nap? None of this needs to be done right now," he gestured to the stacks of paperwork you'd been chipping away at, "we could lay down for a little while."

Your heart ached at his concern for you. It ached because you needed it more.

"No," you sighed, trying to stop the tone of your voice from spiking, "no. We both have work to do and I won't keep you from yours."

"It's not a problem, we could just—"

"I said I'm fine, Todoroki."

He blinked, silent, and you regretted every word you'd ever said up until now. Snapping at him was uncalled for, and he was only trying it help. You scolded yourself internally, mustering up the courage to apologize—

"Todoroki?" he repeated, almost indignantly.

Your eyes met his, and you had no idea how to decipher what was in them. He raised an eyebrow at you, and you fought the urge to shrink away from him. He didn't need to do much to get his disappointment across.

"When do you ever call me that?"

You paused, letting out a breath. You were glad he wasn't upset about your outburst, but you weren't expecting him to get like this about his name. You hadn't thought it'd mattered to him what you called him.

"Sorry," you muttered, resting your forehead on your palm and looking away from him, down at the table in front of you, "like I said, I might be a little tired. Let's just finish this quickly."

You reached for another stack of papers and he met you there, wrapping his fingers around yours.

You reeled back from him like you'd been burned.

There was a pause, and neither one of you moved a muscle. You felt his eyes on you, but yours were stuck a stray crack in your dining room table. You traced the fray and thought about how you begged Shouto to get this old thing, rather than buy a new one. You’d told him your place would be too stuffy without something with character. You wondered if he’d want to keep it if whatever sort of confrontation this was turning into went south.

“My love,” he started softly, reaching out again, pausing just short of your fingers that were clenched tight into a fist, “have I done something wrong?”

You met his eyes then, and the overwhelming concern you saw there broke something loose in you. You felt the prick of tears behind your eyes, and like always, you didn't look away fast enough. You shot back in your seat—moving the chair back several inches with you—and looked to the ceiling, squeezing your eyes shut tight with the hope of keeping the emotion that had you wound up inside yourself. It was unfortunate that you had spent so much energy fighting back something that ended up finding another escape route through your mouth.

"I can't do this anymore," you whispered to the ceiling, cursing every word that crossed your lips.

In standard Shouto fashion, he was beside you before you'd gotten the last syllable out.

"I told you, we don't have to do this right now—"

You did laugh then, short and bitter and regrettable. Despite yourself, you kept talking.

"Not the paperwork. This. With you. You are everywhere all of the time and I just," you sighed, running a hand through your hair, tightening your fist around the strands until it ached, "I can't do it. This... anymore."

You heard him take a step back from you, heard him draw in a sharp breath. He was quiet for far too long. You didn't dare look at him.

"You don't want to live with me anymore?"

You looked at him then, and you'd never seen him look so visibly hurt in all of the years you'd known him. You'd sooner break your own legs than ever have to see it again.

"What? No, of course I want to live with you, I just—"

"Have I done something wrong?" he asked again, and something in the tone of his voice shot you right back to twenty years ago—when he'd laid his head in your lap and opened up about his mother for the first and only time. Even at five years old, you heard the way he shoved the emotion down.

Did I do something wrong?

"Shouto, you didn't do anything wrong," you whispered to him, stepping toward him. He looked away from you, down at his hands—you reached for one, gently taking his cool fingers inside your own.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said it like that. I just," you paused, searching for the words that had apparently been cut off despite you not being able to stop them a second ago, "I'm having a hard time...dealing with how I'm feeling."

He looked at you then, but didn't say anything. You took it as permission to continue.

"I love living with you," you told him, giving him a watery smile, "I really do. I love having breakfast with you, sitting together on the couch, making you watch those stupid cartoons with me, doing all this fucking paperwork," you choked out a bitter laugh and paused, trying to steady yourself. The tears were back and you weren't sure you could stop them from where they were headed now.

"I'm afraid I love it too much," you whispered, quiet and broken and enough to snap him out of it. He rushed toward you with open arms, but you held out a hand to his chest, feeling exactly where the line that halved him lie underneath his sweater. It stopped him in front of you, and he moved to hold a warm hand over your own. Holding yours there.

And with all of your fleeting bravery: "I'm afraid you'll hate me if I do."

And it was the truth—you'd been terrified that he'd feel taken advantage of, or betrayed somehow. It was easy for you to imagine, considering you'd been one of the only constants in his life that had stuck around this long. You couldn't bear to feel his disappointment that you'd turned out like the rest—selfish in your need for him, for him to be something for you. You hated that you couldn't even deny it—the way you wanted him was completely selfish. You couldn't stop it. You'd tried.

You'd been stuck in your own thoughts for long enough that you didn't notice he'd moved until his face was inches from yours. He still held your hand where it was, cradled to his chest. He was warm, and you had to fight a shuddering sigh at his proximity and the way he flooded all of your senses.

"Please," you begged, nearly silent. Your eyes were stuck on the way his jaw clenched. You wished he'd spare you—to shoot you down quickly and get it over with.

"My love," he whispered, strained, and it was all the warning you had before you were crushed to his chest.

His arms moved to surround you, then— wrapping around your shoulders and your waist, holding you to him. He pressed feather-light kisses into your hair, your forehead, your hairline. He let go of the hand he'd still had pinned to him, reaching up to grab your face and pull you up to look at him.

"I thought you knew. I'm so sorry."

You froze—unable to look away but still unable to speak.

"I—you. Huh?"

The corners of his mouth turned up a bit at your stuttering, and he pulled you into him again, pressing several more kisses to your hairline.

"I love you," he said into your hair, and your whole body went rigid against him, "I have loved you. I should have told you that."

You clung to him, then—let every word permeate deep inside you, settling somewhere that had been untouched until now. If you thought about it, you supposed he had told you, by way of action—waking you up with tea on lazy Sunday mornings, leaving you notes when a mission called him away, running baths for you after you'd returned from your own.

The battered boy who had nothing had given you everything, for all of these years. You loved him so much that it ached.

"I love you," he said again, and you realized it was in response to the thought you'd evidently vocalized.

You looked up at him, bringing your hand up to rest on his chest once more—settling over his heart. The beat against your palm was strong and constant—he leaned into your touch and it made you smile. He took your face in both hands and brought you closer—his bangs tickled your forehead as his eyes met yours.

He let his head drop until his forehead met yours, and you closed your eyes, breathing him in. Letting every part of him move through you like water, letting him flood you.

"Please kiss me," you whispered, and you felt the exhale against your lips as he let out a quiet laugh.

And then his lips found yours, and it was only you and him. All it ever was, all it ever would be. You poured every single day spent loving him into the kiss, all of your hurt and your fear and your tenderness into him, needing him to feel it. You swore he did the same—kissing you with such urgency it overwhelmed you completely. He was soft and hard and brutal and gentle—a wave to crest over all others that you knew would drag you under.

You leaned into him and let it.

this fic belongs to me (@b-writes-things). i do not allow anyone to repost, edit, or reproduce this work.

[vecabyte]

Imma have to go on blood thinners if this shit keeps up these heart palipitations are fucking annoying and I’m tired of my chest feeling like it’s gonna collapse all the time damn

[canwriteitbetterthanueverfeltit]

I have never met a person who completely unironically loves Love Never Dies, and I get all the issues, but the Australian production????? Honestly some of the coolest tech work I have every seen I haven’t watched the video in literaly years and I’m having heart palipitations just thinking about the set for Coney Isle Waltz and the lighting for Beauty Underneath I will DIE on this hill, come and get me

[protaego]

Hurricane

Pairing: Draco x Reader

Requested by an anon: Could u do a Draco imagine that consists of Cedric diggory, draco getting jealous, feels, conflict and a load of jealousy? Thank you so much! 

A/N- this was so fun writing

The impuissant objects residing within the dorm rattle precariously as Draco stomps in, casting his belongings aside as he seethes with unequivocal rage at the scene which he had been graced with only moments ago.

“Having an ickle tantrum, Malfoy?” Theordore Nott taunts provokingly from his lounged perch on his bed; an engraved smirk toying knowingly on his lips.

Draco bares his teeth as he whirls around on Nott, his billowing robes swinging viciously around his ankles. “I’d watch my tongue if I were you, Nott. We wouldn’t want a repeat of last time now, would we?” Draco growls in a pernicious manner which has slight trembles running through Nott.

An audible gulp threatens to escape Nott’s throat but he manages to push it down. With a small crack in his superior facade he murmurs, “I’ll take my chances.” Albeit with a tentative brush against his right eye as he remembers Crabbe’s relentless punches. 

Before Draco can pounce on him, however, Blaise Zabini chooses that oportune moment to enter the dormitory with a roll of his eyes and an exasperated sigh. “For the love of Salazar, Draco, kill him if it means so much to you. But tone down on the terrorising a little…Snape’s having to deal with enough traumatised kids as it is.”

“I think I might just do that.” Draco spits as he grips Nott’s collar, completely ignoring the rest of Blaise’s speech.

“Not him you twat, though it would be quite a pleasant show, that irritating Hufflepuff that’s had you wound up since the start of the year. It’d do us all a favour, actually. None of the girls seem to be interested in anyone else. Especially, that Y/N..”

Draco’s hand tightens considerably on Nott’s collar as he glares at Blaise. “B-Blaise!” Nott rasps on the verge of being asphyxiated. 

Blaise clicks his tongue once in annoyance and waves his hand impatiently in Nott’s direction. “Unhand the fool. His cries will only get more agitating.” he says distastefully.

With a grit of his teeth, Draco roughly releases his hold and saunters towards his bed; leaving an oxygen-deprived and thoroughly infuriated Nott in his wake.

Nott’s attempts at insulting Draco are silenced by a swift, bone-chilling glare sent in his direction by Blaise before they can leave his lips. He pushes himself up and strides unsteadily towards the dormitory door. 

“A Hufflepuff has managed to strike the mighty Slytherin Prince’s nerves. My, how he has fallen.” he says croakily but the malice and dryness are still evident, regardless. Before Draco can carry out the deed this time, Nott slams the door shut and hurries down the staircase. 

“Don’t go bursting a vein, Draco.” Blaise drawls boredly as Draco makes to run after him, his face contorted with rage. “Besides, I’m almost certain Crabbe and Goyle are making quick work of him anyway.” 

With a disgruntled grunt, Draco plonks down on his bed and shoves his face in his hands. Memories of the previous day rush through his mind like a predetermined alarm clock signalling his scheduelled torture that his mind has made for him. Replays of Y/N’s adorning laugh as it rings across the courtyard; her hair twirling as the wind rushes through it; the heaviness in his heart and the surges of jealous spite as he watches Diggory lean closer to her; brush locks of her hair behind her ear; hold her; make her smile. All of it.

“We’re going to dinner. Surely you can handle that without breaking anything?” he says with a demeaning tone which rouses Draco out of his anguished reverie. 

“Funny you should make that comment, Blaise. Since it was you who sent various objects flying towards my face because you’re in love with Pansy.” he smirks, self-satisfied and stalks out the door; a sour Blaise following after him. 

Y/N takes her seat at the Hufflepuff table beside Cedric, clad in her vivid Slytherin robes. She’s used to, by now of course, the envious glares and suspicious glances sent her way due to her platonic friendship with Cedric Diggory. However, no one tends to see that particularly important fact. 

She huffs in irritation as Cho Chang and her best friend, Marietta Edgecombe, exchange gossip about her. She wets her lips as she glances around uncomfortably, which is when she catches sight of Draco Malfoy’s apoplectic glare directed at Cedric and her. She inhales sharply at the animosity of it and looks down. Why was he so pissed? Surely she didn’t do anything? They’d been friends for years until she’d seen Pugface Parkinson shove her tongue down his throat and distanced herself. She refuses to believe anything other than the assumption that Draco is probably pissed at her for being friends with a Hufflepuff. Triwizard Champion or not.

Her inward monologue is cut off by Cedric’s soft whisper in her ear and a clasped hand around her own. Multiple shivers run involuntarily down her spine as she nods in agreement with the offer provided to her.

Jealousy pumps fiercely through Draco’s scorching blood stream, making his pulse throb. The stimulus for this acrimonious occurrence was naturally the sight of Y/N being lead out of the Great Hall by a chivalrous Cedric Diggory. His lips whispering sensually in her ear in a manner that was obviously meant to be seductive as he takes her by the hand and exits.

Draco’s hands had been clenched in a vice grip against his lap throughout the whole period of being in the Great Hall and were now painfully stiff and if possible, whiter than his natural skin tone. 

“Are you sure you want to do this Draco? He’s a seventh year. He can turn you into a twig just as easily as you can infuriate the Weasel.” Blaise halts him as Draco clambers out of his seat in a murderous rage equal to that of Milicent Bulstrode’s during her “time of the month.” 

“Like hell I’m going to allow him to touch her.” he growls malevolently. Blaise merely rolls his eyes as Draco dashes towards the exit in a deformatory fashion.

Relieved sighs erupt from the Slytherins but Blaise only chuckles quietly. He’s sure Draco won’t back down now and maybe his best friend can finally be true to himself.

Slamming the doors deafeningly behind him, Draco stomps down the corridor, sending multiple glares at passing students as he goes. The sight that befalls him as he rounds the corner, however, has him stopping short. His palipitating heartbeat faltering ever so slightly for a moment as his sheltered heart gets clenched in a choking grip. In that moment, he can’t seem to breathe. The breath getting trapped in his throat, dissallowing him to respire. But just as quickly as it comes, his heart rate picks up again as a rush of anger beyond anything he has ever felt before surges through his entire being; pounding for release against the restraints of his body. 

They stop in the middle of the corridor, Cedric’s hands resting against her hips as she bites her lips unsurely. Her backs presses gently against the wall as a hand brushes a lock of hair away from her face. “You know I like you, Y/N.” Cedric says with candid confidence.

Y/N squeezes her eyes shut as he leans in. Her mind reeling with unanswered questions and startling hesitation as his lips press against hers. She tenses and her limbs freeze in place. After a few moments, Cedric’s lips coax hers into responding and she does only half conciously. But before she can think to react fully, a voice startles her.

“Having fun?” Draco’s rancorous voice resounds against the walls as he shakes visibly.

A shocked Cedric pulls away to stare at Draco with a raised brow. “As a matter of opinion, I’d say yes.” he replies flatly, neatly ignoring Draco’s malignant aura.

“And how about you, Y/N? It seems to the observer that you’re having quite the time.” A sneer is forced onto his face as Y/N struggles to reply. 

“What’s this all about, Draco?” she says after a few moments of mindless gaping.

“I’d like a word if you wouldn’t mind, Y/N.” Draco emphasises with a harsh glare sent at Cedric. Y/N regards him speculatively for a few moments before relenting and gesturing to the courtyard. 

She silences Cedric with an abrupt shake of her head and says, “I can handle myself, Ced. I won’t be long. Go to your Common Room and I’ll be there in a moment.” 

Cedric glances between the two of them with suspicion and worry before begrudgingly doing as she says. “If you do anything to her I won’t hesitate in murdering you, understand?” he growls at Draco but doesn’t wait for a reply before stalking off.

Upon entering the secluded courtyard, Draco instantly finds that telling Y/N the truth may be more challenging than he originally thought. 

With a huff Y/N faces him and folds her arms across her chest though Draco recognises it as more of a warily protective stance than portraying a form of control.

“Well?” she says tersely, keeping her expression neutral. 

“I….Y/N..” Draco implores with mild desperation as to her coldness.

“Draco, If you don’t have anything to say then i’m going back to Cedric and a nice bit of cuddling-”

“Since when have you ever let anyone other than me cuddle you?” Draco demands as another rush of jealousy flares up inside him.

“Since you replaced me with your teddy bear.” Y/N fights off a grin as he splutters for a moment. 

“T-that was one time that I fell asleep with Goyle’s bear thinking it was a pillow. I was perfectly justified to think that since I was thoroughly sleep deprived.” Draco huffs childishly.

“You keep telling yourself that, sweetheart.” she says dryly before being unable to remain expressionless and bursts out laughing.

Draco finds himself grinning before he can think twice about it. For the first time in months it’s him that she’s laughing and talking with, not Diggory.

“I’ve missed this.” he admits softly, a wistful smile adorning his face.

“Me too.” she murmurs and a lonely silence forms the atmosphere around them. It stretches for miles until they can’t process how much time has passed.

“What was it you wanted to talk about, Draco?” she whispers vunerably, her hands clasped bracingly against her body. 

“I…well I….After you started distancing yourself from us all I realised that…well…” he trails off in frustration at his own insecurities.

“Just say it.” she says tightly.

Draco squeezes his eyes shut to block her out of his vision but finds only that her delicate frame indents itself upon his eyelids. After a moment of hesitation Draco whispers six words that swirl through the remains of a tempest and lay themselves out before her. “I’m in love with you, Y/N.”

He fights the urge to flee and remains stoically before her with his eyes still clenched shut. 

Yet, It’s so gentle and unexpected that he almost misses it. A tentative flutter that tickles his lips like a feather that causes his eyes to wrench open in shock. 

Y/N with her body raised by her tip-toes, tousled hair framing her flushed face and eyes wide open, centres his line of vision. Her lips pressed lightly against his own and determination and contentment in her eyes.

Before he has wits enough to react, she pulls away with a beaming smile equal to ten suns mirrored by that of his own.

“Maybe I’m in love with you too.” she murmurs shyly.

“I can live with that.” Draco says with playful nochalance before grinning and pulling her into his arms.

Y/N rolls her eyes and laughs lightly, “I’ll just be letting Ced know that we’re getting another cuddle buddy. Or shall I say two..?” she ponders teasingly.

“I’ll have you know that Mr grumpy and I don’t mingle with the likes of Diggory.” he responds sourly.

“Grumpy?” she bursts out laughing.

“I was rather grumpy at the time…Crabbe was snoring.” he shudders visibly. “And so you’re still going to cuddle with him?” Draco asks lugubriously.

“I was messing, you grumpy buffoon. And besides, you give the best cuddles.” Y/N admits with a sigh.

“I do don’t I?” he smirks proudly, quickly recovering from his insecure state.

“Don’t push it.” she says gruffly.

“How about…no?” he teases.

“How about yes or I leave you for the Hufflepuff?” she counters and smirks triumphantly.

However at Draco’s dark expression the truimph plummets and she gulps softly.   She cups his face gently with her hand as she gives him a lingering kiss. “You don’t need to be jealous of him.” 

Draco pulls her in and kisses her harshly, “I’m not.” 

“Alright.” she hassens with a deep sigh knowing that it’d make him increasingly more annoyed to press the topic. “I chose you, Draco. It’s always been you. No one else.” she says with honest sincerity.

A shocked face turns into a radiant smile as Draco leans in, “I always knew you’d end up being the one.” he grins as his lips meet hers once more.

“I should hope so.” she mumbles against his warm lips as they kiss, not for the last time.

The settling tempest becomes equal to backround noise as they stand inches apart amongst the sheltering arches. Trees crashing as tongues dance beneath the calming sky. Some would call it an omen, others a hurricane.

[hydrotropicgirl]

 thnx dreamworks for lance and for making his birthday july 28th I'm screaming??? what a beautiful day to turn twenty on?? 

i cant wait to see atomoic blonde bc i mean charlize theron kicking the ass of every man around her? what a gift

and the most important part is today is all for lance and the fanart coming out ive been having heart palipitations for the past hour im gonna self implode today i love him so much