#sorry i know this has been giffed a million and a half times

[subtle-as-an-earthquake]

he said :(

[lemonnsss]

Moral of the Story Chapter 4

Gif by: @celebritiesandmovies

A/N- I’m so sorry for the late update! I’ve had some issues with my health recently that have led to some related issues in school; but, I’ve been feeling a lot better and tried to edit this up quickly.

It’s not my best work, but I had no idea what to do with this chapter, please forgive the nonsense.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4

Taglist: @vicmc624 , @mostlymarvelgirl , @yvonneeeee, @beetlejuicesupremacy , @moonlightreader649 , @whattheduckisupkyle , @chrisevans-realwife, @nekoannie-chan , @mrsbarnes32557038 , @imyourbratzdoll , @weallhaveadestiny

Word Count: 1.2k

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. The thought that Scott would leave never so much as crossed my mind. How could it? Jean and Scott had been dating since the seventh grade.

I must have reread his email half a million times, each time hung on the words “I’m leaving the mansion too.”

I was pulled from my shock as I heard the door shut behind me. I put my phone away, internally prepared myself for the interview questions, and turned around, standing from the chair. I began to talk before I saw the figure, “Hello, again Ms. Potts. That was quite the situation-” I stopped. I had expected to see Ms. Potts. Instead, there stood Tony, who seemed equally shocked to see me there.

“Why hasn’t Pep sent you out yet?” He moved from the door to the desk, “The last person to make it this long had a mental breakdown a week later.” He passed my side, slipping onto her desk. He kicked his legs slightly before he appeared to remember I was still present.

“Regardless, where is Pepper? She usually never leaves interviewees unattended,” He leans back, bracing himself on one of his arms as he reaches to the top of the shortest stack with the other quickly lifting the top sheet and, while scanning it, says, “and most certainly never leaves them around confidential company information.”

“Technically, the interview hasn’t begun.” An uncomfortable pause fell in the room as he waited for me to elaborate, “Her regular assistant is on maternity leave. Her fill-in accidentally double-booked her- she’s in a meeting right now.”

He let his head fall back dramatically as he scoffed, “Shame, I had wanted to tell her something in private. Do you know who’s all in there with her?” A cocky smirk plastered on his face.

“No? Why, Tony?”

He slipped off the desk, similarly to when he hopped up, “Oh, nothing. Just have a bit of information to share with the class.” he was almost halfway across the room when he turned back to me. His smirk was now a shit-eating grin.

“Wait,” I ran to the man, grabbing his wrist, his expression turning amused, “if the information is so important, would it not be better to share it with her privately as you originally intended.”

I suppose I had a stern expression as I said that as Tony burst out laughing, “What am I? A schoolboy scolded by his teacher?”

“Not far off on the teacher part.” He stopped for a moment before a small smile came across his face.

“Really now? When was that?” He leaned against the table again, his interest shifting to the current topic more and more.

“It was my last job. I taught at a private academy outside Salem for almost three years.”

“Interesting. And what provoked the sudden career change?”

“I don’t believe I owe you that information, Mr. Stark, unless it pertains to a crime.”

A silence passed as he tilted his head one way and then the other. “Fair point. It doesn’t apply to California's laws, but sure, plead the fifth. I won’t judge you.”

“Oh no,” I said sarcastically, “how could I ever go on with the great Tony Stark judging me!”

“Ha-ha, very funny.” He moved his hands in an almost childish manner. Playing to exaggerate his point, “You don’t seem like the type to leave such a luxurious position for any old reason. And given that you didn’t have a job lined up, you left quickly. Why is that?”

“... My long-term partner and fellow teacher at the institution cheated on me with our co-worker.”

I looked up, his face seeming to wander between holding back a chuckle and ‘Oh shit’.

After quickly stiffening his laugh, a voice rang out behind, “Well, that’s quite the loss on their end.” Ms. Potts said from her place, leaning on the doorframe. Noticing her, I stood up, “You were a great help today, and from the small glimpse I’ve seen with you and Tony, well, I think he’ll be in good hands.” 

By the time she finished her sentence, she was standing in front of myself and Tony. He still placed his weight on the desk but now he stood with his back straightened. I couldn’t help but let out a light chuckle, watching how much his demeanor changed when trying to maintain a good image around her.

“Please, Ms.Potts-“

“-Call me, Pepper. Please.”

“Alright… Pepper. Thank you, but you’re too kind. I just did what I could to help. That’s nothing to be hired over.”

I watched as she placed a hand on her hip, looked at Tony, then looked back at me.

“Hun, I mean this in the nicest way I can,” she says as she placed her hand on my shoulder lightly pushing me to sit, “do you want this fucking job?”

"Yes?"

“Great! You’re hired. Tony is scheduled to attend an event in Milan later this week so, I’d recommend you get ready for it. You’ll be at the convention for four days, not including travel days, please keep that in mind while packing. Now, if you don’t mind,” she moved her arm in front of her covered desk, “I have a few rather large stacks of paperwork to get to. Tony will show you to your office, once you’re done you’re free to leave,” she moved around the desk to type something on the computer, “I’ll have the receptionist send the order out for your ID badge, we’ll most likely have it tomorrow, otherwise it will be the day after that.” She moved up to Tony and me pushing him off her desk and casually shooing us to the door, “Congrats on the new secretary, Tony, don’t fuck it up. And to you, good luck.”

And just like that, I was standing outside of Ms. Potts' office with Mr. Stark. He led me over to his office, the room was rather cluttered but, inside and to the left there was a door. He looked over his shoulder, I guess to check to see if I was still there. He then opened the door, which, led to the secretary’s office.

“There’s another door leading in from the hall, so, please, don’t feel required to come through this room every morning. If you have any other questions, you have my number. Otherwise, I have better things to do.”

“I’m good Mr. Stark.”

“Mr. Stark was my father, call me Tony.”

“Okay then, Tony.”

“Well, I’ll be seeing you then.” He gave a slight wave and walked out into his office. The sound of his door closing let me know he was either leaving or heading back to Pepper’s. 

I took another look around the room, it was well-furnished and fairly clean. There was nothing I could see that needed repair either. I wouldn't need to bring anything in.

We boarded the plane about sixteen hours ago and finally reached our destination. We were about five minutes from landing. I got up to wake up Tony, who had been asleep for the past four hours.

I walked over to his chair, slightly nudging his shoulder, “Mr. Stark, wake up. We’re about to land.”

“Fuck you”

“Apologies, sir.” I sat across from him and buckled my seatbelt.

After I had finished the pilot sent the message over the intercom. Tony begrudgingly followed the instructions. The landing was a bit bumpy, but far from the worst I’d felt.

Once we were given the all-clear to start unboarding we started walking down the airplane's staircase. I started walking towards the car that was waiting when I heard a loud bang. The unmistakable sound of a gunshot rang out. I turned around and saw Tony writhing on the ground.

[simpxxstan]

perfect complements (ch. 2)

pairing: professor!seungcheol x professor!f.reader

genre: fluff, enemies to lovers, angst, smut

series summary: four and a half years of working together breeds familiarity, resentment, and everything in between. it's almost like living together.

chapter word count: 2.4k

warnings: bickering.

a/n: i have never been to a therapist/counsellor, so i apologise if there are factual inaccuracies in how the process of counselling goes. the italicized portion is an excerpt from the past, and that's how it'll be indicated in the rest of the story!

thank you so much for reading! your reblogs, likes and comments make my day!

series masterlist

GIF by coupsnim

The walls of the counsellor’s office are painted blue and green- quite contrary to what you had thought would be clinically white and even more depressing. There’s no sign of Seungcheol though, as you sit in the small waiting space outside the office, reading a magazine off the coffee table, your legs shaking nervously.

The man you’re waiting for storms in through the door, his shirt unbuttoned at the top, and his slightly longer hair all fluffy and messy. “Sorry I’m late,” he says to no one, especially not you since he’s averted his glance from you as soon as he entered, and there’s no one else in the space. “Dr. Lee is waiting for us.” You speak softly, trying to level your tone. He takes a minute to brace himself before looking at you, fixing his hair, fixing his crumpled shirt, and breathing in. 

In the past sixteen hours, you’ve thought about this moment a million times at least. It’s been a long time coming, and you know Seungcheol knows it as well as you. Wonwoo has spoken to the two of you multiple times, and yet- things never seem to improve. 

It’s not like you purposely piss him off, well, most of the time. He is a dickhead, but it’s not like you have a lot of free time just to educate him on being a better human in the world. It’s mostly a slip here and there, and the spark blasts. 

It started on a rainy day, in the middle of August. You really didn’t like the rain, to make it worse you’d got your period that morning. You wanted to go home as soon as possible, but all public transport had suddenly disappeared, leaving you stranded in the monsoon on a busy street where no one cared about you, no matter how desperately you called for a taxi. It was just not your day-

But all that had a hope of reversing when you noticed a familiar smile and a wave through a car window, which was right next to you now. “Seungcheol-ssi?” you asked. “Can I give you a ride, Prof Y/L/N?” You started refusing him, hands moving animatedly, but then he gave you a look- oh- and you couldn’t refuse him anymore. “Please. You’ve been standing here for the past twenty minutes,” he said, as you shuffled into his car, trying to not wet the seats but in vain. “You’ve been watching me?” “Uh-” he was nervous now, “no I was just…” “Hey, I really appreciate your offer. I was really having a difficult time. Thank you so much, Seungcheol-ssi.” Three months into his new job, and you both had developed a good relationship, being of nearly the same age. The three other professors in your department were all above fifty, two even due to retire that year, leaving you two as the youngest of the department, and it was a good partnership. You enjoyed talking about the subjects that you had chosen as the first loves of your lives over a cup of coffee, sometimes you would smile at him for a second too long when he would speak of his pet dog Kkuma, sometimes he would return the smile when you spoke fondly about your favourite students. 

The car ride was also just as smooth as the rest of Choi Seungcheol. As much as he was an eye candy, you had decided you were certainly not interested in him, having noticed how well he got along with every female (and most male) faculty members of the university, and his smiles were just not reserved for you. Within weeks, he had students fawning over him, and soon he was becoming the most popular professor in the university, not just among students but also among your colleagues. While you had no fancies for these titles, it felt a little weird losing the good rapport you had worked hard in building, being the only female professor in the department. Or maybe it was just you being too competitive. 

Anyhow, when Seungcheol played the music of your favourite idol group, you couldn’t complain. The depressive mood from the rains had already mellowed out. You raised your eyebrows at him in query, he replied, “What? I’ve seen their photocard behind your phone.” He smiled again, and you smiled back. So attentive. 

Just then, there was a crazy sound from his car. Alarmed, he instantly got out of the car to check- soon there was smoke coming up from the front of the car. You felt guilty sitting in the dry shade of the rain while he lifted the front hood of the car, drenched in the rain, trying to figure out the issue, so you stepped out. “I’m sorry- I really-” “No, hey, why are you apologising to me?” “I don’t know what’s wrong. I think I’ll have to call a mechanic.” You looked around, it was a shockingly deserted area, maybe the rain had washed away all people into their homes. As evening began to descend, your cramps got worse, not improving as the wetness of the rain began settling into your bones. 

“Should we wait inside the car? I’ve called for the mechanic, but they’ll definitely take some time.”

“Sure. I mean, we don’t have an option, do we?” You chuckled, trying to reduce the tension. “I’m sorry I got you stuck in this.” “Nah, it’s okay.” “You can try looking for a cab-” “Do you see a cab out there, Choi Seungcheol?” you snapped out a bit too harshly, recoiling instantly. He was taken aback too, wincing. “Sorry, I just…” Then he grew quiet, and so did you. 

Seconds became minutes. 

Minutes to hours. 

Precisely, two and a quarter hours, before the mechanic arrived. 

Your water bottle was empty, your lunch long finished, the cramps growing worse in the confined space and the anxiety, and Seungcheol wasn’t a close friend who you could become casual around. So you kept your legs down, your heels on, even if your ankles hurt. You kept your hair tied, even if the hair tie began to hurt your scalp, because your hair was too unruly to let down. You couldn’t even take off your jacket, because your body was too cold to let go of even one piece of clothing. 

This was really not your day.

There was no conversation, mainly because you were afraid of snapping again. He stepped out to help the mechanic, and you closed your eyes tight in the car, trying to hold back the pain. Wordlessly, the mechanic left after the issue was fixed, the rain still pouring relentlessly, and Seungcheol came back into the car. 

Thankfully, this time when he tried to start the car, it roared to life. After travelling slowly for fifteen minutes, Seungcheol spoke up, “It’s almost seven- do you want to get some ramyeon before heading home?” You weren’t even looking at him, but you could sense the expectation in his voice. “My treat, to make up for the-”

“I want to go home, Seungcheol.” Your voice was bitterer than you had thought. Seungcheol extended his hand to your arm, and you flinched. “Can you please drive me to my neighbourhood? I don’t want to stay here a minute more.” He took back his hand in a second, and amped up the speed of the car. In less than twenty minutes you were in the front of your home, the address you had input into the Google Maps of the car dashboard earlier. 

Without a word, you stepped out of the car, into the rain that had fizzled down to a drizzle now. Seungcheol was looking at you, and you had no way to avoid his eyes now. “I’m sorry for making your day so bad. Really, if I could make it-” “Bye, Choi Seungcheol-ssi. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And you had turned your back on the man who had drove you home that evening, the hopeful glint in his eyes burning in your head but other feelings like exhaustion, pain and desperation overwhelming you. 

-

“Has anger always been an issue for you?”

Ouch, that was harsh. You had thought counsellors were soft with their words- but then, you’d never been to one’s office before. Seungcheol seemed calmer than before now, honestly that irked you more. Was he actually okay with sitting here? Being reprimanded for how you couldn’t help but behave around each other, at the age of thirty-three?

“I don’t know… I guess I’ve always had a slightly sharp tongue. Quick to lose my temper.”

Seungcheol sighed next to you. You can feel his eyes poring into your face, but you can’t bring yourself to look at him. 

“And you, Prof. Choi?” 

“I don’t think so. I think Prof. Y/L/N brings out the worst in me.”

Now you’re looking straight at him, and you know he’s facing you while saying the words. “Excuse me?” 

“Prof. Y/L/N-”

“I’ve never faced issues with my temper before, you know. Yes, some may call me an alpha but-”

A laugh escaped from your lips before you could help it. 

“Prof. Y/L/N, please refrain from scoffing here. Remember the common goal.” Dr. Lee reminded you. 

“I can’t help it, Dr. Lee. It’s blatantly obnoxious for Prof. Choi to think of himself as an alpha. Why, the man’s scared of ghosts! As if ghosts even exist.”

“Prof. Y/L/N-”

“Might I inform you, Dr. Lee, than Prof. Y/L/N has a phobia of thunderstorms. She can’t stand seeing lightning, absoltely shivers like-”

“Professors!”

Again the dreadful feeling of being reprimanded. 

“Laughing at each other’s phobias are petty and not acceptable. This is a safe space. We are all respectful of each other’s fears, irrespective of how they appear to us. We have a common goal of resolution, please be mindful.” Your eyes were cast downward, fingers fiddling with the hem of your dress. “I’m sorry, Dr. Lee.”

There was a sharp intake of air from Choi Seungcheol.

“But I don’t think this can ever reach resolution,” you complete, nearly standing up from your chair. Seungcheol openly scoffs at you now, laughing at your surrender. Exactly what he was pushing you for.

“There, there! No need to rush, Professor. How about, we move on to the first activity I’ve planned for you both?”

You pause, sitting back in your chair. 

“Activity?” Seungcheol asks, running fingers through his hair. 

“Yes! It’s part of my toolkit for couples’ therapy-”

“This isn’t couple’s therapy,” you both chime together. It’s getting annoying how often people think of you as a couple.

Dr. Lee only chuckles, as if they had laid the bait out for you to hold on to, and you both had caught on to it like fishes. You gasp, realising this session may be more complicated than you thought. 

“Of course! Now, have either of you done colouring before? Ever heard of art therapy?”

Seungcheol shakes his head, while you nod. “I colour on my phone sometimes- numbered colouring. Stress relieving, it is for me.” Dr. Lee smiles. “Yes! Except, we’ll not be doing numbered colouring.” They pull out a sheet of paper from underneath their desk, and lay it right in front of you both. 

It’s a beautiful picture of a scene from nature- trees, foliage, flowers, even a river through the grass. But in black and white outline, and more spaces marked in between indicating where to fill in colours. 

Then Dr. Lee brings out a pack of colour pencils, and keeps it beside the sheet of paper. 

“Can I trust you both to fill this in?”

Seungcheol’s jaw actually drops. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him more surprised.

“You want us to fill this with colours? Colour pencils?”

“Yes! It’s really quite simple, and really would be great for healing you through all the stress of work during the day.” Dr. Lee’s smile is genial, but you don’t feel it catching on to you. The thought of colouring this- with Seungcheol- does nothing but add up to your stress. 

“Alright.” Seungcheol is doing it again- pushing you to surrender. He even picks up the sheet and colour pencils and stands up, looking at you expectantly. 

But you’re not going to give up so easily. 

It’s a matter of your pride after all. 

“We’ll bring this to you, all complete and pretty, at our next session!” You’re staring into Seungcheol’s soul, seeing the panic flash momentarily before he dons his standard pretty smile, gums threatening to show. 

“Yes, Dr. Lee!” And for a second, you wonder if this was how he used to suck up to his teachers in school, all cute and excited- but, you forget the thought quickly, as Dr. Lee stands up, a very knowing smile in their eyes, waiting to bid you goodbye. As you both shuffle out of the room, you face Seungcheol outside the office. “Our next session is day after tomorrow. What were you thinking when you promised to complete this, like a little good girl, so eager to please?” he snaps, standing inches away from you. 

“Seungcheol, spare me your nonsense. I’ll take it home today and complete the top half, and you can take it home tomorrow and complete the bottom half.”

“Impossible. I have at least two dozens of projects to go through. I’ll not be coming to work tomorrow. No time for this” he points at the sheet in his hand. 

“Then I’ll just come over tomorrow evening, after your project corrections are done. We can complete it together. Makes the process quicker.” You know you’re stepping into extremely risky territory, but hell, even you didn’t want to go home and colour on a lovely day like this. Wine and jazz sounded much better. 

He seems to ponder over the offer for a second. Then he takes out his right hand from his pocket, and holds it out to you. “Deal,” he says, and you almost scoff at his childish behaviour. Then you shake your right hand with his, and take a step back. 

“See you tomorrow, then.”

“Yeah, my place, at 8?”

“Hmm.”

“I’ll text you the address-”

“I have it already, Prof. Choi.” you say quietly, before turning your back on him and walking away slowly, ignoring his eyes on your back. 

[mikelogan]

hello. i really enjoy your content, but i have to say i'm kinda disappointed on you still being a ts fan. this woman knows what disney does and yet she still gave them the rights, meaning she either doesn't care or actively supports the genocide. or maybe she decided to turn her morals off because money is more important. not to mention how she consistently associates herself with questionable people and how a person literally died in one of her shows on brazil and she gave zero fucks. this woman is not a good person and there are no excuses to being her fan anymore.

no, i fully understand what you're saying and where you're coming from. over the last like. idk year and a half? ive been pretty vocal about my disappointment, distaste, and disagreement with a multitude of the choices she's made lately. i 100% agree that her silence on the subject of palestinian genocide (as well as many other human rights/social causes) is at best a sign of apathy and at worst a sign of support. especially when miss americana was all about her wanting to be more outspoken and be an activist. that all feels so incredibly performative now -- and has for a while. a lot of things that she's said and done since midnights, which is when i became more active in the tumblr swiftie community, have left a bad taste in my mouth for her as a person.

like i said, i genuinely agree with what you're saying. the only thing i take issue with is that she didn't care that a fan died at her show. she donated money to the fan's family and took time to meet them. regardless of my many issues with her, i do think she can be an empathetic person and i don't think that she just straight up didn't care that someone died before her show. it's one of those things (of which there are many) where we'll never know her true thoughts bc she doesn't talk about things. which is frustrating in itself.

now that's not the point of your message, so feel free to write that off as a digression. i strongly disagree with her making yet another version of the eras tour movie and hosting it on disney+. I'm personally boycotting disney+ and have been for a while. I don't even intend on watching the new version and like the vast majority of everything I gif, that shit is pirated -- that's how I watched the original release of the movie. obviously my consumption/boycotting is just one person compared to blondie, who has influence over millions, who could make real change if she spoke out against genocide.

at this point, im not supporting her financially either apart from listening to her music. which i love. im sorry, but I do. if I didn't, we wouldn't be having this conversation. i think her constant churning out different exclusive versions of the same albums are a transparent money grab and maybe an effort to set more records as far as sales or streams or however that all works. and I'm not just saying that bc I literally couldn't even afford to buy a digital copy of an album right now.

so yeah. I appreciate that you enjoy my content and thank you for saying so, but if you need to unfollow or block, i understand. I've definitely toned down/completely stopped sharing posts about her as a person bc I'd much rather focus on just the music. and maybe that makes me a bad person for continuing to listen to and enjoy her music. im not saying i necessarily feel good about it, but i think the fact of the matter is that a lot of the celebrities, actors, musicians, etc. we like or whose content we enjoy hold views we disagree with and have different values or priorities. nuance exists. right now, im someone who is vocal about the palestinian genocide and I try to share resources/posts about it when they come across my dash and im also someone who is a fan of Taylor's music.

Idk, I hope what I'm saying makes sense at least on some level. I've done my best to word things coherently, but brain fog fucks w me a lot. and like. it's probably whatever, but I do plan on changing my url after ttpd releases. That probably upsets you more and I can see how people might think im a hypocrite or something and yeah, I get it. Idk, I just want to enjoy someone's music without endorsing them as a person, but that's extra difficult when the person in question is the biggest singer in the industry. but you'll never see me making excuses for her on things like this or the m*tty situation or numerous other things she's said and done that gross me out. im not so far up her ass that I think she's perfect or that I feel the need to defend her at every turn. like I said, nuance. anyway, if you feel the need to respond, i welcome you to do so as long as we both remain respectful, which I think we've done. this is a difficult topic, but that doesn't mean we can't discuss it. I appreciate your point of view and I'm sorry that I've disappointed you!

[strawberryvanillablast]

An Essay: The Appeal of Tommy Oliver

First, obligatory Tommy Oliver gif.

I've been thinking about this for a while, seeing people ask as to why Tommy Oliver, one of the faces of the Power Rangers franchise, was so beloved even to this day.

I have to admit that when I dove headfirst into this franchise, I was not a Tommy Oliver fan at first. No, that first belonged to both Sky Tate from Power Rangers: SPD and Andros from Power Rangers In Space. But I slowly got attached to this ranger in multiple colors. It does beg the question of why.

Let me start off with a disclaimer stating that I'm not an expert in any way, shape or form. These are just my thoughts here on display.

The one thing that I think appeals Tommy Oliver to me personally is, beyond the cool powers and suit, the subtle character development.

Now, when I speak character development, I understand that it's not in the way that most would think. For the most part, Tommy's whole personality stays the same save for Power Rangers: Dino Thunder. It seems that the only thing that changes is the suit that he wears.

However, throughout the seasons that he's been in, there is actually a decent amount of subtle character development in his arc from start, to middle, to finish (sort of).

When he starts, he's the new kid who gets mind-controlled into being a loyal and effective servant of Rita Repulsa, the main enemy for both Season 1 and half of Season 2. He's freed and becomes a member for the team.

But this gets tempered with losing his powers, gaining powers, and then losing his powers of the Green Ranger permanently.

I want to focus on this for a moment because Tommy Oliver at this point in time is trying to find his footing on the team. He's the new, fresh ranger who really doesn't know his way around. Sure, it's not present as much in the 90s series, but it's more pronounced in the Boom! comics. And from what we see, Tommy has a hard time.

Flash-forward to the White Ranger arc. Now, everything is propelling forward for Tommy! He's the new leader with these new super-duper powers!

Already, this signifies a big contrast to his beginning. Rather than be the evil Green Ranger, he's now become a Ranger

Well, no. Not really. Because he not only has to deal with the loss of the Command Center along with everyone else in the beginning of Season 3, but also with dealing with Kimberly's loss of powers with the addition threat on her life, which presents subtle tension and a subtle stress on Tommy. It's not present as much as I would like but let's save that for another day.

Add in the Power Rangers Zeo where he goes from getting broken up with Kimberly to being brainwashed again by the Machine Empire. At this, it's also implied that it has permanent side effects as seen in one later episode.

Power Rangers Turbo, well, there was the Pit of Despair. And Power Rangers: Dino Thunder has a million essays on the effect the ranger life has on Tommy's psyche.

All of this happens and I'm surprised that Tommy is as well-adjusted as he is. But it also shows the whole completion of his arc, from bad guy to good guy to leader to eventually a mentor to a team.

Also, I don't think that most of his popularity is his fault. The Super Sentai version of him (Kyoryu Sentai Zyuranger, in case you were wondering) was also very popular. And the fact that he lasted long enough as he did (five seasons in total) gave his arc a sense of the completion.

And the fact that he goes through a lot and still has a sense of the responsibility without shying away from what he's done.

That.

That's kind of why his fans like him.

Do you agree? Comment or reblog as to why you like him, Tommy Oliver fans! Sorry it got so long!

[outside-lookingin]

The end of tumblr

Back in 2018, tumblr got caught with their pants down and bums exposed when it made the news, the BIG NEWS one of their blogs posted child porn. All the higher up execs and staff panicked, risk of losing their place on every platform avail, they banned nudity and pornography from this site in an attempt they were ‘doing something’ about it. Tumblr has always been a place where anything goes. Well, ALMOST anything. Despite tumblr’s community guidelines we all agreed to, blogs were breaking rules daily and if you trotted off into the dark side of tumblr, you found hideous things. Scary things. You found things you’ve never seen before or wanted to see. To this day some images have stuck with me. Some images so unbelievably gruesome and disturbing, I wish I could forget. Some blogs that posted certain nonsense were deleted. Or a post was simply removed. Then some blogs weren’t and by some magic twist of fate slipped under the radar basically forever and got away with murder. Then some other blogs were deleted with no warning or no good reason.

Then a light at the end of the tunnel? As of this year, tumblr has reinstated nudity. This unfortunately has not saved their site. The good blogs that left after the great ‘females presenting nipples ban of 2018’ didn’t come back. The posters that post haven’t been posting as much. It’s been too little too late. Oh, now you’re sorry?! Four years later?!! Nice. The blogs that were labeled ‘explicit’ stayed explicit and weren’t given the option to be rebirthed to have a site again. If you’re an explicit blog, you’re dead to tumblr. You don’t even exist.

I’m sorry to say after all that tumblr has done to try to save their site, they are hanging on by a very short thread. In an attempt to regal feelings of old, this site gets goofy, but in the most pretentious way. As a feeling of a stale corn flake that no longer serves it’s purpose. We had the click for frogs thing for no reason which was stupid. Or an old windows 95 desktop blocking half of the damn page. To keep it all hip and cute for the kiddies, now we have a tumblr store selling random, useless and stupid items. What? Nonsense. And as a cherry on the shit sundae, there is now tumblr live. What in the hell is tumblr live? Well, it is nothing more then a bunch of random and i mean RANDOM yo-yo’s who have no idea what tumblr is or who don’t even like tumblr who are streaming for no good reason whatsoever. Oh, so that’s what that is. And every week after you snooze the annoying banner of icons of the most hipster jerks you’ve ever seen in your life, tumblr live turns on again for you and it appears like some horrible thing. So you go back in your settings and have to turn it off again. You have to turn it off every week so you don’t have to look at the most horrible thing you’ve ever seen in your life: Other people. Ewwwwwwwww. What? We don’t want to see other people. We want to see what we like to see. Which is whatever we want why we’re here! Art! Old time hollywood! Movie gifs! Other shit! What the fuck does live streaming nobodys have to do with tumblr! You know how tumblr’s Q&A is basically Q&A with people you’ve never even heard of in your entire life? Same thing except much worse.

Even after all these changes, additions and ‘improvements’, would you believe that child porn blogs still exist on this site? You’re kidding? Nope, I am not. You might be asking yourself, how do you know such things? Well, I happened to have followed the wrong blog which I no longer follow which reblogged garbage. I also became aware of another blog I followed that also posted and reblogged garbage and from there saw who they reblogged garbage from and so forth and so forth. Tumblr cannot possibly handle this. Or can they? How many blogs are on this damn thing anyways? Well, after an extensive google search which was literally 3 seconds, over 500 millions blogs exist on tumblr. But how many REAL blogs is that? 500 million blogs nearing 600 million? This counts blank blogs, spam blogs and blogs that haven’t posted for ten or more years. So now how many blogs does that leave? Would you say 100 million or less actual users?

I still can’t help but feel tho with so much to oversea, there is still a right way and a wrong to handle this. What would be hard about having a special ‘team’ separate from the regular tumblr team to seep out the garbage? SO, you’re just going to keep letting pedophiles post trash?

After me reporting dozens of these blogs and even an e-mail to the CEO, these blogs are being erased one little bit at a time and some not at all? Why would tumblr have time to get rid of trash when they have to worry about designing stupid stickers or cashing in so hipsters can buy 20 checkmarks that mean NOTHING. Tumblr’s priorities are in the wrong place. You need a solid foundation first before you go off bullshitting and fucking around. And to make a functional foundation you need A: Having a functional site. B: Have it run fast. C: Fix your damn bugs. D: Make sure you’re not having a whole host of the wrong blogs. And ‘speaking’ of the wrong blogs, for a site that doesn’t allow porn there sure is a lot of it I come across. Not only porn gifs from random blogs, but full on porn blogs that reblog nothing but porn. Well, imagine that. I remember the welcome back e-mail from CEO Matt Mullenweg, who told us that now we can not think of nipples as a bad thing anymore, but allowing porn on a blog site basically doesn’t work. It SEEMS to be working pretty good for some peeps? Tumblr can’t seem to weed out it’s own troth of minions violating it’s community guidelines. How do you fix this? We don’t need a tumblr filter again. We remember what a disaster that was. Liars. You would appeal a post that had nothing to do with adult content at all and a promise it would be reviewed by a real human, only to receive an e-mail a half a second later informing you your post IS adult content and will not be restored. BOY, those tumblr staff real humans sure are quick, aren’t they? But why regal the things of old. The point is, this site is dying and not as exciting as it used to be.

Some blogs that suffered a cruel fate or having their blog labeled explicit or deleted and started a new blog found they were being targeted on the new blog and still being punished by having their archive wiped out or random posts disappear. What is that about?

Knowing there is a whole community of sick blogs that got tumblr in trouble in the first place and that got us punished means nothing has changed other then a four year gap where nakedidity (it’s a word) meant your ass. The fact that it took as long as it did for word to get out this site has blogs that post illegal crap is incredible it took that long. And now at this point we find that there are still illegal posts that a four year hiatus on tits did NOTHING.

[raincityruckus]

gif absolutely stolen from this set by @thewaythisis when the gif search failed me, thank you!

all dressed up with nowhere to go

triple frontier poly time - the boys x reader rated e for everyone/everyone tags for this chapter: outside the team jealousy/possessiveness, but there's no i in team, orgies as a team building exercise, if the canon conflicts with my specific desires that part of canon doesn't exist, low grade voyeurism/exhibitionism

"you" are on the team, call sign killjoy because it's my fave and i make all the rules

It's a little pathetic, really. That on a Friday night none of them have any plans. No one has anything better to do than meet up at Pope's last minute. But you're probably worse - you did have plans. You had a date.

And you still bailed for cheap beer and planning an only quasi legal job

chapter one: really get me going when you put it all on

You get the text on the way to the date.

Check it while you wait for a couple already drunk girls to meander across an intersection, arms laced and half walking half falling in their heels. You know you were like that once and you probably aren’t that much older than them but you feel older. Heels that high just aren’t an option for you anymore. Not with a fucky ankle and a hip that still aches sometimes. The lingering memory of a bad fall followed by a far too long hike to the pick up on your limp.

Got a job. We should talk.

Your thumb taps the steering wheel and you toss the phone and Pope’s message to the group chat into the passenger seat. Listen to it beep replies at you all the way to the parking lot across the street from the restaurant. It’s a nice place, supposed to be great sushi and fun cocktails. The perfect first date kind of place.

There is a lychee mojito with you name on it. All you have to do is get out of the truck, go inside.

read the rest on ao3

or

It’s been a while since you got this text. Long enough to break the pattern of getting home from a job only long enough to shower, do laundry, pay the phone bill and pack up again. Long enough that you've started to try and settle into whatever being "home" means.

To line up a date on a Friday night like a normal person. With a normal person.

I’ll bring beer is all Fish has to say about it, already a foregone conclusion that "we should talk" means now and at Pope’s place.

Ironhead and Benny are in without hesitation, the brothers deciding to drive together. 8 o’clock on a Friday night and no one has anything better to do than head to Pope’s house and start hashing out the details of whatever bad idea they’re throwing themselves at next. Your head thumps back against the seat.

Killjoy Will’s text startles you. The vibration of your phone in your hand makes her jerk, your focus a million miles away. You never bothered to turn off read receipts and they know you've seen the texts.

You should tell them you have a date, you're going to eat your weight in spicy tuna and flirt with a very cute mechanic with a neck tattoo and a pitbull rescue dog. They can do this tomorrow and you're already wearing false lashes. You're committed to this whole date thing.

OMW you say instead.

You go bag is in the back seat, a change of clothes and a couple make up wipes to take care of your face if they end up deciding this is something you're going to move on now. You pull back out of the lot the wrong direction on a one way street and give the driver of a little green Yaris the finger when he leans on his horn.

You swipe back to your dating app one handed, make a definitely illegal turn while texting.

So sorry you hesitate and delete it, try again Emergency work thing, rain check?

It’s way worse than cancelling plans, technically you're already a few minutes late and you're bailing with the weakest excuse in the world. But you did say she worked in private security, did warn that you have weird hours and get called out of town a lot. All of which is more or less true. Or is at least the truth with all the rough edges smoothed out and the blood washed off. You hope it buys you a little leeway here. But bailing on a first date 6 minutes after you should have been there doesn’t leave you very hopeful.

You peel off the fake lashes in the truck and toss them into an old Starbucks cup. Sure you could reuse them but this all feels like a sign. Fate reminding you that dating is for other people.

You're pulling in behind Will’s car when you get the alert from the dating app. You shove your phone into your bag and hurry up the stairs without checking it. Like a coward.

You're not sure you want to see it.

Curiosity gets the better of you when you get a second notification as you're letting yourself into Pope’s apartment.

You’re lucky you’re so cute.

and then

Rain check.

You huff out a sigh, tuck the phone away. It’s nice to hear but somehow you doubt it’s really sincere. Or it wont be after a few days of stewing, of talking to friends about the date that bailed at the very last minute for a “work thing”.

“Oh damn,” Benny says when you lean against the wall in the entryway to unbuckle the little strap on your sandals. The heel is relatively low, even being wedges, but they seemed like the right call for a date on a muggy August evening.

Pope gives a low whistle and you roll your eyes. In retrospect you're pretty sure the guys have never seen you dressed up.

“I’m underdressed,” Fish says, holding out a beer to you when you finally kick off the heels and join them in the kitchen.

“Literally always,” you agree, bumping your mouth high on his cheek when you take the beer from him. Your other hand plucks at the soft fabric of his shirt, this one a pattern of leaves in shades of green and black. It’s ugly for that specific value of ugly dad shirt that you actually like on him. It's been washed so many times that it’s soft to the touch.

“What’s with the dress?” Benny asks, leaning his elbows forward on the table and giving the dress a considering once over.

It’s a dark purple that looks good against your skin, a cotton that breathes well in the muggy summer heat and it falls loose around your body, long enough to hide the spray of pale scars across one thigh where shrapnel bit through your jeans and turned your leg to so much hamburger. There are a couple little pieces of metal which never came out but since they don’t seem to be causing any problems it’s not working cutting you open to fish them out.

A tan helps hide the scars but for all the time you spend in tropical locations you have precious few opportunities for sun worshiping.

“Don’t we have crime to discuss?” you ask, getting a nail under the tab of your beer. It’s still warm and the head spills up over your fingers, making you seal your mouth over the lip so it doesn’t make a mess of the floor.

You flick beer from you wet fingers at Benny.

“It’s not strictly crime,” Pope says, seesawing one hand. His grin is crooked and they all know that’s just semantics.

“You can’t do not strictly crime in a dress,” Benny points out.

“Women do crime in dresses all the time,” you roll your eyes “And heels.”

“Not our kind,” Fish has his legs sprawled out in front of him, hat tossed onto the table and he holds his beer in both hands, casually between his thighs. He looks utterly relaxed and his eyes sparkle when he teases you.

“You are like weirdly hung up on this dress thing,” you say, gesturing at all of them with your beer, “I know you’ve seen me in a dress before. I wore a dress to Benny’s last bout.”

“But this,” Will says from where he’s perched his hips against the kitchen counter, his voice low and slow in that way of his, “is a date dress. Do you have a date?”

Benny gives a low ooohh like the annoying younger sibling he is. He’s the only one to speak up. The kitchen is oddly quiet after Will’s question, his gaze steady on you in a way that makes you want to shift your weight. Fish looks over his shoulder to exchange a look you can’t decipher with Pope. You let your head fall back, squeezing your eyes shut for a second. Better to get it over with, rip the bandaid off. They’re never going to let it go without comment and the sooner they get to tease you, the sooner you can talk about the job.

And as much as you want to pretend that you can adjust to being home you want to talk about the job. You want to be on the job. Your hand itches for the weight of a gun and the idea of another month watering your plants and watching reruns is going to make you crazy.

“Yes, I had a date,” you say finally, resting your hip against the counter next to Will. Only Benny and Fish bother to sit at the table most of the time. Pope has his back leaned against the fridge, almost exactly opposite you, "past tense."

“Who are you going on dates with?” Pope asks and sometimes you wish they all cared less, that it was just a job. But after a certain amount of blood spilled and saving each other’s lives that’s just not possible. It all becomes family and they feel like they get to ask questions like that.

“A nice mechanic I met on Tinder,” you say, sounding petulant even to yourself. You cross your arms over your chest, “with sexy tattoos and a cute dog. But since I bailed on our first date for this little tete a tete I doubt there’ll be a second.”

There’s a weight in the air, something almost dangerous. But you know what danger feels like, the way it bites at the space between your shoulder blades and this isn’t quite it. This is pressure like a storm front moving in, something coming. You swallow like that might pop your ears. It doesn’t help and your next breath comes heavy. Pope isn’t looking at you, he’s looking at Ironhead and he makes that little head tilt of his. The one that’s technically agreement, that’s a “what can you do” without words.

“You got all dressed up for him,” Will says, fingers finding the hem of your skirt. You don't bother to correct his assumption, brows drawing together in a frown as you look up at him.

He seems much larger than he did a minute ago, his body closer, looming over you against the counter and he fills your field of vision. Your breath catches and everything feels different.

“Jealous?” you ask because you've never learned when to shut the fuck up.

Behind him Fish huffs out a laugh, his chair creaks when he moves and you can hear Benny say something low but you can't quite make it out. Will is like that when he wants to be, terribly distracting. His gaze drops, follows the low neck of your dress. If the skirt is modest to cover the scars on your thigh the plunging v of the neck more than makes up for it, revealing the swell of your breasts and making it hard to find a bra to wear under it. You take a shivering breath, knowing it lifts your breasts towards him but unable to help yourself when he seems to have pulled all the air from the room.

“You fuck on the first date?”

The question makes you blink, gaze searching his face. The jealousy is there, the heat that turns his pale blue eyes dark. But it doesn’t show in the lines of his face, in the soft relaxed bow of his lips. If you didn’t know him as well as you do - know him like the feel of blood on your hands and the quiet certainty that someone’s got your back - you'd think him totally unaffected.

“Ironhead,” Pope’s voice is quiet, relaxed in a way you somehow didn’t expect from this situation.

Not that anything about this situation is exactly something you expected.

“She’s fine,” he says, calm, detached, like he’s talking security rotations and egress. His other hand is propped behind you on the counter and you can feel the flex of his bicep against your back.

Pope’s still leaning against the fridge, hips rested back against it. He’s a long lean shadow in black denim and a dark henley tight enough that it hugs the curve of his shoulders, letting you see the movement of muscle as he lifts his beer to his lips. The air is charged, crackling with it. Lightning could strike right there in the kitchen and you wouldn’t be surprised. That storm front of pressure pushes down on you and makes it hard to breathe.

Will’s hand skims up the cotton over your thigh, finds a place to rest on the lower curve of your stomach. It’s oddly intimate for a not strictly sexual place to touch. The fabric bunches in his hand and he starts to gather it into his fist, pulling it up your legs.

You don't flinch when the first of the scars are revealed, don’t worry about the reaction to them. They’ve seen them. They have their own. Your hand closest to him finds the outside of Will’s arm, fists into his polo. It’s odd, having him crowded up on one side of you and making you feel so caged in and simultaneously so on display. You don't push him away.

The cotton skims against the top of your thighs and your hand falls to his elbow, the other finding his wrist. For a second he stills, leaves the skirt where it is - barely covering you. His grip isn’t particularly tight and you could push him away if you wanted to. You could pull his wrist across your body, pop his elbow with the heel of your other hand by pushing up on it with surprisingly little force. You don't do any of those things and Will tugs the fabric higher.

“Well?” Will asks, “She dressed to fuck on the first date?”

Someone makes a low hiss between his teeth and you aren't sure who it is. There’s a split second after Will tugs your skirt high enough to reveal your panties that your brain just blacks out. Like all of this is too much to process without a reboot. You know what they see, the black lace that shows a hint of skin through it. That it’s more of a tease than a barrier.

“Yeah,” the voice is Fish’s and you blink to clear your vision, find him still sprawled back in his chair watching you. His gaze drags up from between your thighs to meet yours and he cocks his head to one side. His crooked smile carves a line at one side of his mouth, “black lace is meant to be appreciated.”

“Black lace?” Will asks and gives a low whistle. Even though he’s the one touching you, the one instigating he’s also the one who can’t actually see you. His hand slides down, only the way it bunches at his wrist keeping your skirt up.

You both make a soft pant for air when his fingers find the slightly rough kiss of lace as he cups his palm over you.

“It’s a thong,” Pope bets, cutting through the private moment of that shared breathlessness. Somehow his intrusion doesn't break the moment, just expands it. Because it’s right that Pope be there, expected.

Fish’s chair creaks when he leans forward, braces his elbows on his knees. You can see down the shirt where he leaves the top few buttons undone, see gold skin and the dip of his collarbone. You hiss out a slow breath, think about putting your tongue in it.

Will raises his eyebrow in question but you just shrug. His smile is a flash of teeth. If they want to know if it's a thong, they can do their own recon. You're not going to make it easy for them.

Which is a thought that makes you feel like you're losing your grip on reality. All of this is so outside the realm of expectation it feels like maybe it's a dream. Like maybe you had an accident and you're bleeding in your brain. But Will's hand is hot and heavy against your skin, anchoring you into the moment.

“You don’t dress up for us,” Benny says, looking up from where he was dragging his finger through a ring of condensation on the table. Some weight shifts in his shoulders like he comes to a decision and you know without him having to say it that for a second there he was doing the same math you were: Is this thing happening? Does this break things? Can they weather this change?

You think you must have come to the same conclusion because you're relieved that he’s playing along, that he’s in.

“Sure I do,” you say, voice thick. Which is ridiculous because Will is barely touching you, his hand just cupping you. But you can feel the hot air Pope’s fan is trying to make a breeze of against your thighs, against the scrap of black lace Will’s revealed.

“I don’t think body armor and an M16 counts,” Pope says, his grin making his eyes dance behind the can as he finishes his beer. He sets it on the counter with a couple of other empties next to his coffee maker and jar of coconut oil they’d all teased him for, gone liquid in the heat of the apartment.

You can relate. Your legs feel liquid, like they can hardly hold you up.

“Doesn’t it though?” Will’s voice is husky and when you turn to look at him he’s so close your noses bump. He doesn’t quite kiss you but his head shifts, his nose brushing against yours until your lips bump, open mouthed.

His lips are chapped.

“I’ve always been partial to body armor,” Frankie says and when he holds his hand out to you, you take it and let him pull you towards him. Will doesn’t hold onto you, doesn’t try to cage you in against the counter.

His jealousy doesn’t extend to the rest of the team, apparently. You kind of knew it wouldn't. Frankie’s hand is warm and dry when he curls it around yours and pulls you forward until you're straddling his lap. Your arms go around his shoulders and his hands find your thighs just above the knee, your skirt bunching at his wrist. His thumbs draw circles on your skin and one hand sinks into the long hair at the base of his skull. You can see concern in eyes.

The concern isn't entirely misplaced. If what you think is happening here is happening here... Some things you can’t pretend didn’t happen. None of you are anywhere near drunk enough to brush it off as a dumb, drunk thing you did once, never to be discussed again. This is a clear eyed decision you're all making. You scrape your nails softly against his scalp and he tips his head back into the touch, hands sliding farther up your thighs.

“You don’t dress to get undressed for us,” Benny amends, leaning forward with his elbows on the table.

You and Fish are sort of sideways to the table and you have to twist your body to face Benny. One arm braces on the table as you lean across it towards him. His gaze follows the column of your throat down to the cleavage revealed by your dress, emphasized by how you're leaning towards him. He’s lucky he’s cute or that shit eating grin might be annoying.

“You don’t know that,” you say, pitching your voice to a conspiratorial stage whisper. Fish’s fingers find the edge of your panties, “I could wear lace under my kevlar.”

“Fuck,” Pope says and Benny’s hand slides into your hair, pulls you the last few inches to his mouth.

[makeadealwithdean]

a roller coaster kinda rush (damon salvatore x fem!reader)

Hello beautiful people! Yes, I’m aware this is a Supernatural and a Criminal Minds blog, but I’m also a huge fan of The Vampire Diaries, so here is my first Damon fic. I’d call it a one shot, but I’m thinking there will probably be a part two (because smut, ya know?). If y’all are interested in that, please let me know in a reblog or a comment or message me! Thank you!!

Word Count: 1500 exactly

Warnings: None, just a tiny tiny bit of angst before the fluff, oh and some language I guess, since reader thinks of some unflattering names to call Damon

Summary: Damon and the reader are just friends, but could Damon’s bluntness actually lead to something more?

Masterlist

(gif not mine, i found it on google, and tried but failed to find the owner)

“Stop it, Damon! You’re such an ass!” you huffed angrily shoving him away from you. Or more accurately, trying to shove him away from you. He took about a half-step back, clearly unaffected by your lashing out.

You were standing in the living room of the Salvatore house, having what felt like your tenth argument this week. Damon might be your best friend, but lately, it had felt like the two of you couldn’t even speak without getting into an argument. So much for the “casual night to unwind” that you’d had planned.

“What do you mean?” Damon protested, probably thinking your rage was funny. He was sensitive like that. Bastard, you thought to yourself. “I’m just being honest with you, Y/n/n. I just think you’re being a little over the top about this whole Stefan/Elena thing,” he tried again.

Stefan and Elena had broken up and gotten back together for the thousandth time, and as Elena’s best friend, of course you felt obligated to try and protect her in any way possible. She was tired of getting hurt, and you were tired of it, too. 

“Oh don’t ‘Y/n/n’ me,” you snapped at him, frustrated beyond belief. “You’re being mean, and I--”

Damon cut you off before you could continue, “I’m not, actually. But I could be mean, if that’s what you’re into…” His eyes narrowed in a smirk, and his eyebrows rose slightly at your flustered expression. 

Could he possibly--? No, that’s impossible. He couldn’t know. Your mind was racing about a million miles a minute, but no matter how you felt about him, you certainly weren’t about to let him win that easily. No, he’s probably just flirting like he does with everything that has legs. That man-whore.

“Shut up, Damon. Not everyone's in love with you, ya know,” you informed him snarkily, recovering pretty quickly for how taken aback you’d been a second ago. You turned and started to storm out of the room, fed up since clearly you weren’t going to get anywhere with him. Insufferable prick. What a--

His voice interrupted your thoughts yet again. “Maybe not,” he sneered, catching your wrist and yanking gently so you were forced to face him, “but you are.” You felt blood rise to your face immediately at his words, and you found yourself looking anywhere except his face. 

His hand went to your jaw forcing your gaze upwards slowly. God, no, no, no! Why is he doing this? And why is he dragging it out so long? He’s gonna reject me anyway. Can’t he just get it over with? You were fully looking him in the face now, and you stared hard to your right, refusing to meet his electric blue eyes. 

You felt tears prick in the corners of your eyes. God, Y/n, get it together! Are you seriously about to cry right now? In front of him?

“Babe, look at me.” Babe? Uh, what? Did he just call me that for real? Or is he making fun of me instead? God, this is humiliating. I gotta get outta here. You tried to pull away from his grip again, still refusing to meet his eyes. But he wasn’t having it. 

“Y/n,” Damon sighed, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean--” He hesitated again, shaking his head at himself for a second. His cocky attitude seemed to have evaporated along with his joking tone. Recovering, he tried again, “What I mean is-- I like you, uh, a lot. And I think-- I know you like me too, right?” His eyes searched yours as he faltered, his forehead crinkled in an uncharacteristically worried expression. 

You didn’t know what to say. Was this really happening? Was the Damon Salvatore, wild, unpredictable, big-bad-vampire, king-of-impulsivity, that Damon Salvatore, confessing his feelings to you right now? Hand still pressed gently to your jaw, full-on movie confessing the way he felt about you? 

You blinked once at him, stunned and taken aback. His head tilted slightly to one side, just barely. Enough to shake you out of your stupor, at least. 

“Uhh--” Smooth, Y/n. He tells you he likes you and the best you’ve got is “Uhh.” Nice. “Um, sorry, I do like you, yes. How did you--?” You thought you’d done a pretty good job of hiding it. Apparently not. His lips began to curl upward again in a smile, a soft one, comforting. Not at all unkind, though slightly amused, as if he could hear your thoughts.

His gaze dropped slightly down, from your eyes to where his hand rested lightly on your cheek. His hand and his gaze lowered slowly as he trailed his fingertips down to your shoulder and down your arm as he reached for your hand. His fingers closed around yours and brought your palm to rest lightly on his chest, right over his heart.

“Your heartbeat gave you away. It’s giving you away now. It always speeds up when I come near you.” Your brow furrowed, and you opened your mouth to protest, but he continued on, “It’s okay, Y/n. Had you been able to hear it, mine would’ve given me away too.” 

You looked from his chest, where he had your hand pressed with both of his, to his eyes. Seeing nothing but sincerity there, you allowed him to pull you closer. He moved slowly, almost as if he was trying not to startle you, giving you easily enough time to protest, and you knew he’d back off at any sign of discomfort from you. Giving him none, you let him embrace you in his arms, pressing both hands and your cheek to his chest now. 

Sure enough, you could hear his heartbeat thudding away ba-bump, ba-bump, ba-bump much faster than it should’ve been. He reached up and smoothed your hair, running his fingers through it, comforting you and calming himself. His chest rumbled against your cheek as he spoke.

“Hey, I’m sorry for being an ass to you. I wasn’t trying to be. You were just so worried about Stefan, but I wanted you to worry about me, and-- I should’ve just told you, huh?” he explained before trailing off.

You sighed against him, “Stefan and Elena are two of my best friends, and I hate seeing them hurt. That’s why I was a little upset to find out they’re dating again. Not because I have feelings for Stefan. How could I? I’m too preoccupied with my feelings for you. Clearly, you knew that already.” You laughed softly, still embarrassed, and hid your face in his chest.

“Hey, hey--” he stepped back, forcing you to look at him. “I did know, but that didn’t stop me from being jealous that you seemed to care so much about who Stefan was dating. I didn’t have any right to be. You aren’t mine, but--” His hands slid down your back to your waist, as he looked you straight in the eyes. “I wanted you to be.”

You sucked in a breath as he waited for you to speak. That’s the bold, confident vampire I know, you thought. Maybe it’s my turn to tease him a bit.

“Is that your way of asking me, Damon?” you raised your eyebrow questioningly at him. “Cause, I didn’t hear a question, so--”

“Let me take you on a date,” he said quickly. Realizing that still wasn’t a question, he added, “Please?”

You smiled up at him. He suddenly looked worried again. As if I’m gonna say no! you thought, but you didn’t have it in you to tease him any further.

Your arms moved up to wrap loosely around his neck, and you laughed, “Yes, Damon. You can take me on a date. I’d like that a lot.”

He combed his fingers through your hair once again and smiled, “How about tonight at 7?” 

“Damon, that’s in an hour! I still have to get ready. How about 8?”

“7:30,” he countered. 

“Fine,” you agreed. “But let me go then, so I can go get ready. I gotta take a shower real quick,” you whined, trying to squirm out of the grip he still had on your waist.

“Hmm, I could join you if you’d like,” he winked, back to his old confident, cocky self.

“Not a chance, Damon,” you laughed, finally succeeding in getting him off you. That was ridiculous of you to say. You both knew there was a very good chance of him joining you eventually. It made your thighs clench just thinking about it. Yeah, he’d probably join you soon enough. Not this time though.

“Okay, next time then,” Damon smirked along with you, undeterred of course. You were sure that he knew you’d be more than willing to comply with all his fantasies soon enough. And him with yours. “See you at 7:30, Y/n,” he called over his shoulder as he turned and started for the stairs. “Oh, and don’t be late.”

a/n: Thank you for reading! I know not a whole lot happens here, but trust me, I’m setting it up for the part two I have planned. Also, I’m tagging my forevers, since I haven’t written for TVD before, but I’m now adding a TVD taglist and a Damon Salvatore taglist. If you would like to be put on one of my taglists, just send me an ask and let me know which one! xoxo

Forever tags: @downanddirtydean​  @deanwanddamons​ @katelynw93​

[aries-writingblog]

Brave Enough

Summary: Bucky wonders if he’ll ever be brave enough to admit his feelings to you

Words Count: 1980- ish (I got a little carried away- sorry!!)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings: language, characters engaging of age drinking

A/N: gif is not my own, credit to original creator. Happy reading!!

“Bucky, lighten up, man.” Steve griped, flicking through the menu. The brunette didn’t respond, just slumping down lower in his chair and sulking even more. A deep frown etched onto his features. “It’s just a couple hours.”

“Whatever.” He snipped. Bucky could feel his teeth grit together, his jaw aching from pressure. Sam’s foot connected with his under the table, a teasing tilt to his eyebrows.

“He’s just mad that he has to be here instead of lurking ‘round in the shadows back home.” Sam nudged his foot again. Bucky kicked out, but Sam was too quick. Pulling his foot away just in time. “You ever catch him at like three in the morning, just standing around in a dark hallway?”

“Shut up.” Bucky hissed, snatching a spoon from his place setting. The utensil flew across the table, smacking Sam in the chest before falling to his lap. “And I’m not mad I have to be here.”

He truly wasn’t upset he had to be there. He was upset that one person in particular wouldn’t be in attendance. YN was still off on a mission, unfortunately missing Wanda’s birthday dinner. Without her, Bucky would just spend the whole night sulking, no one else treated him the way she did. No one else was her. Without her, his night was already marked as uneventful and boring.

“You are.” Steve corrected, glancing to his watch. “The girls should be here by now. What’s holding them?”

Bucky glanced around the restaurant, eyes scanning over Tony who was animatedly speaking with the owner. Bruce, retuning from the restroom, Peter following him with a million questions. The older man seemed to age further as the teen pestered him- asking questions ranging from science to personal. The kid could be slightly invasive at times.

The door opened- the other half of their party. The birthday girl. Wanda made her way across the room, Natasha behind her and…

“YN.” Bucky felt a weight lift from his chest- possibly his reluctance to be at the table. He watched as she gave him a small smile and wave before Wanda pulled her off to the bathroom.

“Save me a seat!” YN called, meeting Bucky’s eyes. His eyes followed her all the way, until he could no longer see her. Then he was brought back into reality by a cough.

Fuck- he did that in public. His eyes fell to Steve and Sam, their faces schooled into expressions of taunting delight.

“You gonna save her a seat or what?” Steve asked, lips twitching as they begged to smile. Bucky flicked his wrist, giving his friend a very classy middle finger as they snickered in response.

But Bucky did as she said. He unfolded the napkin at the place mat on his right, showing someone was going to sit there. Then he tucked his hands into his lap, waiting anxiously for her return. Sam pursed his lips, leaning his elbows on the table. Bucky groaned, regretting his decision to stay out when Sam sat across from him.

“Won’t you just tell her you’re in love? It would be a lot easier.” He advised, fingers laced under his jaw. Bucky scowled, his foot finally catching Sam off guard, foot connecting with his shin bone. The man cursed, jerking his chair back.

The bathroom door opened, the trio of women hustling toward the table. Natasha was shoving YN playfully, the woman responding with a laugh. Then she turned her eyes to him and he stopped breathing. Stopped living. Oxygen leaving his lungs at an exponential rate when she smiled. Teeth flashing.

“Got a seat for me, Barnes?” She asked- the sound of her voice snapping his consciousness back into the present. Bucky stumbled over himself clumsily, shoving his own chair back to pull hers out for her. “Thank you.” He pushed her back in before taking his own.

“I thought you were still in Arizona?” He kept a constant tab in his brain to focus. There had been several occasions when the pair were carrying a conversation and he noticed, too late, he had just been staring into her eyes. He didn’t mean to- it just happened.

“Just landed. Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner I was back- Wanda begged me to come tonight so I had to rush to get dressed.” She explained, giving a half hearted gesture to her clothes. Bucky saw nothing wrong with them- she looked beautiful as always.

“No worries. You look beautiful anyways.” Bucky smiled. He could see in the corner of his eye- Sam and Steve sharing a look across the table. Bucky always experienced these mood swings around YN.

If he was distraught, she was there to soothe him. If he was annoyed or angry, just seeing her face would brighten his day. If he was happy, which wasn’t too often without her being a catalyst, she only intensified that feeling.

Bucky had met YN three months into his stay at the Tower. They shared a wall- his apartment was the one beside hers. He didn’t know she was his neighbor the night she came stumbling home from a mission- exhausted and dirty. Dried blood on her hairline and a red path dripping from her nose. She didn’t notice him that night as he sat in the quiet common area of floor 48. She brushed past him and dug into the fridge. He watched her shove six slices of cold pizza onto a plate and snatch three beers before disappearing into her apartment.

Needless to say, he was intrigued. But he never spoke to her. Not until two months later, in the middle of the night. She happened upon him sitting in the quiet, wide awake and writing in his journal. She commented that she also journaled- sprinting back to her bedroom to bring back a leather bound journal covered in stickers. She then offered him some of his own stickers, pressing them to the black journal in his hands.

Four months of midnight meetings passed and Bucky was infatuated. He found himself wanting to speak to her all the time- going out of his way to find her and talk. Thinking of her all the time, linking an activity with her. Asking himself ‘I wonder what YN would think of…’ Sitting with her at meals, hanging out when she was home. If he could, Bucky would have her attached to his hip at all times.

When they were together, Bucky would go to any lengths necessary to keep her there longer. To take more of her time. For once in his life, he wanted to be selfish. He wanted her complete and undivided attention. Most times, he received it. She happily gave into him, pouring affection onto the super soldier. And he swam in it- unabashedly. Unashamed to be so intoxicated around her.

“Hey, what are you ordering?” YN whispered, leaning toward his

Bucky snapped back, again, noticing that everyone had taken a seat and began to order their meals. Her eyes were trained on him expectantly. YN had seen him lose focus and attempted to reel him back in. He always seemed to fade away, she noticed. She didn’t know where his mind went when it happened but she was a pessimist- she assumed the worst.

“Me- ordering?” Bucky stuttered, his tongue barely catching up with his mind. He winced as she gave a soft smile- another snicker coming from across the table. He shot a glance over to Sam, the biting glare garnered a snarky reply.

“Smooth.” Sam muttered, propping his menu in front his face, shielding it from Bucky’s wrath.

“Sam.” Steve scolded lightly, voice low. Bucky bit back his embarrassment, clearing his throat before responding. It was gonna be a long night.

~~~~~~

YN giggled again, swaying as Bucky latched an arm around her waist. Keeping her upright. It was a struggle- she was very touchy when she was tipsy. Bucky’s heart did jumping jacks, unsure if he should revel in the affection or be disappointed she was doing it while drunk.

“Oh- Bucky, what if we took Four Loko’s and, and… White Claws!” Her fingers wiggled as she spoke, eyes watery and wide. Bucky chuckled, his body unaccustomed to the motions.

“No more alcohol for you tonight, alright? You’re already gonna hate me in the morning for letting you drink so much.” He tugged her waist gently, allowing his fingers to rest on her hip. YN rested her head against his chest as the elevator slowed to a stop on their floor.

“I could never hate you, you know that, right?” She asked, eyes gazing up at him. Bucky heaved a gentle sigh, meeting her eyes. A soft smile on his lips.

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

The pair slowly exited the elevator, YN trying her best to break away from his grip. Her attention span was that of a mouse- hands reaching for things in the hallways and in the common area. Finally, they reached the set of doors belonging to them. He released her very carefully to dig through his pockets. YN had given him her spare key months ago, he had it on his key ring. She had it printed in a bright blue- the loudest color on the ring when compared to the black key of his motorcycle and the silver key of his apartment.

He didn’t really need the color distinction. There were only three keys there but hers was the most important one. He had it memorized the day she gave it to him.

“Hey Friday, unlock Bucky’s main door.”

“What? She can do that?” Bucky whipped around, catching a fleeting glimpse of her wobbling, unsteady body as she stumbled into his apartment. “Fuck.”

Bucky abandoned his task in favor of the new, more important task. Getting YN out of his apartment. He followed her at a quick pace, hand outstretched to snatch her wrist but she made an abrupt turn down his hallway. Toward his bedroom.

“YN!” He hissed, reaching for her again. She shoved the door open and made her way into the room. “What are you doing?”

“I wanted to see your apartment- you never let me in here when we hang out.” She murmured, eyes locking in on the bookshelf in the corner. She made a beeline to it, fingers tracing over the spines of the books. She reached for a book on the second shelf. The second shelf was dedicated to his old journals.

“Okay, maybe…” he gingerly broke her grasp on the book before she could open it, sliding it back into place. Bucky rested his hands on her shoulders, steering her out of the room. “We can do a tour when you’re a little more sober.”

It wasn’t that he didn’t want her there- Bucky wanted to show her everything, give her everything. But some part of himself kept pushing it all back, keeping her in the light. He didn’t want her to see the bad parts, and there were plenty. He was terrified she wouldn’t want his broken pieces if she saw them.

YN hummed, breaking from his grasp again. He sighed in defeat, letting her go. She tossed her phone to the rug and flopped face first into the bed. A sigh of content rushed from her lips as she snuggled deeper into the blankets.

“Your bed is sooo comfy…” Her voice was muffled by the thick comforter. “This isn’t fair- my bed isn’t this comfy.”

No one’s slept in it since it was purchased- Bucky but back the comment, deciding it wasn’t a good topic to broach. Considering the circumstances. He stood, watching her for a moment. Allowing her to take control for the time being. The smile from earlier began to creep onto his face as she snuggled deeper into the sheets- fully clothed.

“Alright- enough of that, YN. Let’s get you home.” He murmured, tugging on her ankle. She didn’t budge. Bucky stopped, looking up to her face. She was sound asleep. “YN?”

Nothing.

Bucky sighed.

He reached for her ankle again, unclipping the heels from her feet, allowing them to fall to the floor. He swung her legs around, tugging the blankets down on the bed. Bucky pulled them back over her body, reaching into her hair to pull it out of the tight bun she had it in. The hair tie around his wrist as he tucked her in.

“Goodnight, YN.” He whispered softly. Bucky hesitated, lips close to her temple. He could hear a faint snore coming from her throat, dark lashes resting against her cheekbones.

He allowed himself to carefully lean forward, lips pressing to her temple gently. Then he backed away quietly, turning the lights off as he exited. He couldn’t help himself- stealing another glance at her sleeping figure before closing the door. He also couldn’t help the bittersweet smile that tugged at his lips.

One day… one day I’ll be brave enough for you.

Read Part 2: Courageous

[s-brant]

Cherry Bowl (3/8)

(gif: @kiekiecarrera) (PART TWO) (PART FOUR) (SERIES MASTERLIST)

Summary: When Kie cancels their plans together, Y/N asks JJ on a date to the Cherry Bowl Drive-In. Unsure of how to navigate his first ever date, JJ seeks out advice. Unfortunately, the night doesn’t go as planned, and both parties are left shaken by miscommunication.

Word Count: 10.6k

Warnings: Smut, public sex/exhibitionism, sexual choking, angst, depictions of mental illness, post-traumatic stress disorder, and implied/referenced abuse.

A/N: Welcome back to Tokens! Slight trouble in paradise is brewing for these two lovers, so buckle up and read because it’s gonna be a rollercoster for a little while after what happens in this chapter. I hope you all like it, and if you did, feedback is very appreciated. Have fun!

"I'm just saying that oatmeal raisin is superior to chocolate chip, why is that such an egregious crime, Kie?"

The lunch room is filled to the brim with students going to town on questionably cooked frozen foods, soggy tater tots, and sugary drinks from the vending machines despite the Obama-era posters on the walls advocating for healthier school lunches that never seemed to make their way to Kildare County High. The extent of their healthy lunches extended to a serving of overcooked canned green beans served with the worst slice of doughy pizza known to human kind, so it was sort of contradictory.

Y/N sits across the table from Pope and JJ, the latter of which being the one who launched into a full-fledged debate with Kiara about which type of cookie was better.

The clear cling wrap sits, unfolded, on the table with one of her stickers neatly placed on the back of it. As consolation for his epic loss yesterday at the beach, she paid an extra .75 cents to get him it when she arrived first to their shared lunch period—one of only two class periods they have together, the other being gym. He was still in line when she peeled a surfboard sticker off of her sheet and placed it at the center of the wrapped up cookie as if to remind him of her triumph over him in the waves.

"Thanks, hot stuff," he said, voice somewhat quieter despite the fact that hardly anyone was in the cafeteria with them. Then his smile dropped into an deadpan expression as soon as he saw her choice of sticker and looked back up at her. "You're never gonna let me live that one down, are you?"

"Never in a million years. I'll be gloating about it until I'm elderly."

"That's my girl."

The sound of the constant chatter surrounding them from at least two hundred other people drowns out the memories of yesterday that threaten to haunt her when she watches him debate with Kie. The mere recollection of their night in the back of the van has her reaching to pull the collar of her cropped tee up to assure that the hickeys remain hidden on instinct, and he catches the action out of the corner of his eye. It has him fighting a smile.

Kie quips, "Maybe on another planet, but, here, I think we can all agree chocolate chip is better, right Y/N?"

Y/N's eyes widen around a forkful of mushy "green beans" at the sound of her name being said bringing her from the depths of her memories.

Usually, she's quick to jump in and give her two cents on whatever stupid back and forth they're all having, but her mind was elsewhere. Unbeknownst to Kie and Pope, she was mentally reliving every second of getting fucked in the van last night, so her attention to detail when it comes to the Chocolate Chip vs Oatmeal Raisin case isn't all too sharp.

"Uhhh," she stops for a second, looking at the half eaten chocolate chip cookie in Kie's hand, "If I say chocolate chip is better, can I get a piece of it?"

Kie's face lights up at her words, and she's already pulling off a generous chunk of the baked good to hand off to her. The sound of a certain someone whose lap Y/N's legs are outstretched onto from beneath the table scoffing distracts her from the first bite.

"I know you prefer oatmeal raisin, you traitor," JJ says.

Their brunette friend's brows scrunch.

"Why is she a traitor?"

They try to keep from making any faces or giving anything away, but Y/N has to stifle the sound of her choking on her mouthful of cookie at the question. You'd think one of them came out and asked if they were dating or something with how she reacts, and she feels JJ squeeze her ankle in a non-verbal way of telling her to hold it together. It was her idea in the first place, yet he's a lot smoother with keeping it under the radar.

Under it all, the aspect of keeping it a secret does unnerve him to a degree. He doesn't think he'd be brave enough to communicate it, especially not when their relationship remains undefined, but the darker side of his mind wonders...

He shrugs, saying, "Cause we were friends first. Duh. Other than John B, I've known her the longest."

None of them stop to acknowledge the identical aches in their hearts at the mentioning of his name. They skip right over it like it never happened. After the funeral a few days ago, they've filled their quota on mushy-gushy sad talk for the next week and a half.

The real reason is something far more complicated than him having a claim staked on her loyalty through having the longest friendship. It's something tied up in days of slowly getting pulled into one another's worlds like the tug of gravity itself, in how he has to refrain from slipping his arm around her waist in the hallway or kissing her goodbye after a sleepover at the Chateau. But until she gives him the go-ahead, he won't let it slip to anyone.

Pope speaks up from beside him, "You literally met her twenty minutes before we did."

"Still counts. Technically, I did meet her first, so her betraying Team Oatmeal Raisin is enough to be tried for treason in Pogue Court."

"Pogue Court isn't a thing."

He crosses his arms after he pops the rest of the cookie into his mouth.

"It is now. You can be tried for treason for breaking the rules. Rule number one is that all Pogues have to admit oatmeal raisin is superior."

He's about to ball up the cling wrap to throw away later when the surfboard sticker catches his attention again. It's the same color as his board, which he'd like to think is a result of her being an evil mastermind that went out to get this sticker sheet for the sole purpose of teasing him, but he's the one who got her the sheet as a gift for her birthday, so he knows it was pure coincidence.

Last second, he peels the sticker away from the cling wrap and looks down to place it over the top of her yellow converse that were once a vibrant, paler color when Big John got them for her, but have since turned into an ugly mustard/dirt-dusted color they heckle her over.

"What are the other rules?" Y/N asks.

One of the hands holding onto where her feet are casually planted in his lap, something that they've done long enough that their friends won't see it as anything odd, slides down to caress the stretch of skin beneath the frayed hem of her dark jeans. Something she didn't know about him before whatever it is they have together started was that he constantly needs to be touching her. She can't say she doesn't love it though.

Pope answers, "The oatmeal raisin rule is not official"—a pointed glance at JJ—"But I'd assume the rest of the rules of Pogue Court would be no lying and no macking."

"So, basically you two break almost every rule except the oatmeal raisin one, and I lie," JJ says and turns to look at her, "How does it feel to be better than everyone, Y/N?"

"Pretty good, not gonna lie."

He keeps caressing little circles and tracing up and down her skin beneath the flared out pant leg of her jeans while he swipes his phone off of the table top without attracting the attention of their friends, who continue on to a new topic. She isn't too focused on what it is. She only picks up that it has something to do with a class they're in that's more advanced that hers, so she promptly checks out of the conversation.

Ever since John B died, she hasn't been performing too well in school. She tries, truly tries, but her mind outright refuses to absorb any of the information. When she reads her assigned reading, she hovers over the same paragraphs over and over until she shuts the book in a huff and hides it in her backpack again. Losing someone you love has a surprising amount of side effects.

Her phone buzzing in her hand brings her away from the impending cloud of doom that often accompanies any thoughts of John B, and when she taps in her passcode, her brother's birthday, a message bubble appears with a banner displaying JJ's contact name.

JJ (Derogatory) ur a good liar. prob could've fooled me if i weren't the one macking on u

Their eyes meet for a second across the table, then he watches her thumbs move to type a response.

Kief Princess Little do they know I break every rule now that I've switched sides on the cookie debate. Kinda impressive ngl.

JJ (Derogatory) triple threat, baby

JJ (Derogatory) thanks for the cookie btw

She smiles to herself, so wrapped up in their own world that she doesn't notice everyone in the room starting to pack up their stuff in anticipation of the bell that is due to ring any second now.

Kief Princess Had to repay you for last night somehow ;)

When she glances up to see his reaction, she watches his chest rise with a particularly large inhale, and he chews on the inside of his lip in thought.

JJ (Derogatory) strategically bringing up last night so i'm turned on in physics? ur an evil mastermind

Kief Princess I try.

Kief Princess Apparently whooping your sorry ass at surfing isn't the only thing I'm good at.

She hears him scoff.

JJ (Derogatory) first of all, ouch. second, u barely beat me

Kief Princess I'm happy to challenge you to a rematch. I have plans with Kie tonight, so I can't till this weekend. All it'll prove is that I am the rightful winner, but we knew that already.

JJ (Derogatory) what r the stakes this time

Kief Princess No sexual favors. If you beat me (fat chance) I'll formally rejoin team oatmeal raisin.

JJ (Derogatory) :( sex makes it more fun but i still accept those conditions

JJ (Derogatory) team oatmeal raisin needs u, even if ur a traitor

Kief Princess Why bet sexual favors if you're just gonna fuck me after anyway?

JJ (Derogatory) good point

The sound of the bell ringing echoes through the cafeteria, and they both pop their heads up from their phone screens to see everyone, including Pope and Kie, already packed up and raising from their seats to scurry off in the direction of their next classes. Meanwhile, their stuff is all bestrewn across the table, particularly JJ's belongings.

The sight of Kie walking away makes Y/N ask after her, "We're still on for tonight, right?

She stops with Pope's hand interwoven in hers. The look on her face when she turns would make you think she got caught doing something she wasn't meant to. Something like forgetting about the plans they made last week to watch Fear Street together. The Cherry Bowl Drive-In is premiering the first two movies as a double feature for the horror movie buffs of Kildare, so they decided to get tickets. Kiara shares a fondness of horror movies with her. Since gory movies make the boys squirm, though JJ pretends they don't, it's their own thing.

"Actually, Pope and I were gonna go to the beach. I'm sorry."

JJ knows she's more upset about it than she lets on, but Y/N simply gives the pair a smile that doesn't reach the eyes.

The sound of JJ behind her makes them laugh on their way out, diffusing the minor tension lingering in the air from the awkward encounter, "Use protection!"

After their friends offer them a goodbye, they gather their stuff quite leisurely, not really caring about being late.

It's something they've talked about before here or there: her feelings surrounding Kiara and Pope's sudden relationship. It's not as if she harbors any ill feelings for them, she doesn't, but the ripple effects of their pairing on the group, and more importantly the girls' own friendship, couldn't be clearer from her perspective. Between the missed hangouts, forgotten plans, and the convenient way she never seems to have time to hang out with her and JJ unless Pope is there too, it's been building up for a month now.

What makes it sting the most is how close her and Kie used to be. They didn't hit it off immediately the way she and JJ did as children until her thirteenth birthday when no one she invited showed up to the party Big John helped her set up in the yard of the Chateau.

She was the one who rallied the boys together to walk to ask their school friends from the year above to come hang out for an hour or two, promising a slice of the wonky-looking but delicious strawberry cake her and John B spent the morning crafting together. She can remember the sound of their high-pitched laughs and the cloud of flour that hung in the kitchen when they high-fived over the finished product like it was yesterday. In her heart, it was yesterday.

That night was when she fell in love with her friends, and that was when she first knew Kiara was her best friend. They wove friendship bracelets on each other that night and wore them for years until they withered away. No one had ever done something like that for her before. Not even JJ.

"You okay?"

Feeling his hand on her arm, slipping down to take her hand for a moment in the seclusion of the empty cafeteria, makes her glance up at him with a distinct sorrow washed over her features.

You know what? Screw this. Why should she be torn up over Kie and let it ruin her excitement for the double feature tonight? There's no way in hell she's letting her best friend ditching her for her boyfriend get in the way of her plans.

"Do you wanna go on a date tonight?" she asks him abruptly, then adds, "To the Cherry Bowl with me instead of Kie?"

The question sparks a pause in his mind, a halt of hesitation in which he worries about her avoiding having to answer what he asked, but he attempts to play it cool and not fuss over her outwardly. There have been times where being treated like that has made her feel suffocated, so he doesn't want to risk it. When she's ready, she'll talk about it, and if she takes too long and buries her feelings, then he'll intervene. For now, he tries to keep his face neutral despite the frown tempting his lips at her disappointment.

JJ looks around once more before throwing his arm around her shoulder to walk her out.

"You bet your ass I do."

What is a person supposed to act like on their first date that's not actually a date cause everything between them is the same, but kinda is a date because they called it one? If you ever find out, please find JJ and tell him because he has no clue.

Pope wasn't too much help in the Instagram group chat he made for it seeing as his and Kie's relationship is too fresh, John B isn't even alive, so he's out of service for advice unless there's Ouija Board he can borrow, and, thankfully, Kiara was his savior.

Their phones began blowing up as soon as he reached his class after lunch period ended. He couldn't under any circumstances let it be known that this mystery girl he had a date with was their friend, but thankfully Y/N already had the alibi of going to the Drive-In alone. All he had to do was make up a fake date scenario and get basic advice.

danknugstickiestickies added kiara-c and popeheyward to the groupchat

danknugstickiestickies named the group HELP ME

danknugstickiestickies i have a date with this chick i met on the beach when i was out with y/n last week. i need ur advice

His phone screen lit up with the notification that both of his friends were typing, signified with the three dot symbol bouncing in the bottom left corner as he thought it through. They couldn't possibly figure it out, right? They'd been careful, he'd been respectful of her wishes, and they'd been too busy together to notice anything new with them. He figured it would work. It was a risk, sure, but it was worth it to him. He didn't want to fuck this up with her.

Knowing her, she probably wouldn’t even treat it differently than any of their other hang outs. It's not like they haven't been romantic or sexual with each other. They've done everything but go out on an actual date, so why was he nervous?

kiara-c ummmm

popeheyward Yeah, I'm gonna need you to ELABORATE!!

kiara-c did hell freeze over? since when does jj maybank go out on dates??

danknugstickiestickies renamed the group hell froze over

kiara-c very funny, I'm laughing so hard 😐

popeheyward Do we know her?

danknugstickiestickies don't think u do. she moved here last week and hasn't enrolled in school yet. her name's steph

popeheyward What about Y/N though?

kiara-c ^^

JJ's chest muscles tightened with the question prompting a rush of anxiety that made his breathing feel slightly harder. He glanced up at his Physics teacher, who was essentially dozing off behind his desk with his hand in a bag of chips and an educational video on the projector as an excuse to not teach, and looked back down at his phone without the added stress of possibly getting his phone confiscated.

Pope's message might as well have been a sucker punch. Forget butterflies, he set a wasp’s nest loose inside of his stomach to tie it into knots and flip it every which way. His neglected textbook served as a prop for his phone to lean on as he set it down to think.

Did they know? As far as he was aware, they were getting away with it. No evidence, concrete or circumstantial, was there to prove it. At least the stress of the situation killed any chance of him being turned on by her reminder of last night in their messages. This shit was boner repellant of the highest degree.

He played stupid. Better to let them volunteer whatever information they had before he went in saying anything incriminating that they didn't already know. If anything would sour the experience of their first date, it would be him accidentally making their strange in-between relationship public behind her back.

danknugstickiestickies ?? what do u mean

Three dots bounced in the bottom left corner of his slightly cracked phone screen.

popeheyward ...

kiara-c I mean, you don't see it?

danknugstickiestickies see what

popeheyward I guess we were wrong, but all of us always thought you two had some feelings going on.

"You don't say?" JJ murmured sarcastically to himself under his breath. "Never crossed my mind, Pope."

danknugstickiestickies bro that's jb's little sister

kiara-c so?

danknugstickiestickies forbidden fruit? making john b roll over in his grave? do those ring a bell or am i speaking in tongues

He was already a proficient liar in real life, but, fuck, it was easy in text messages. There's no chance at deciphering facial expression or tone, just a plain message with no room to budge. Thank God he didn't do this in person with them. He could've survived, but it wouldn't have been as quick and painless as the group chat was.

kiara-c jeez, sorry

Pope didn't voice it, but he noticed something.

He looked up from his phone and stared off at the wall in thought in his AP European History class. It piqued his interest that JJ simply said she was off limits, forbidden fruit as he put it, but did not outright deny having feelings for her. In fact, he didn't even address the question. He made excuses for why he shouldn't have feelings for her, but he never said he didn't have feelings for her.

Kie did not notice. Not because she wasn't smart enough to either, but because she was too busy hiding her phone behind her backpack to think too deeply about it. Her teacher was one of those teachers that would flip shit if they saw a cell phone turned off and faced down on the desk, let alone being used by a student during a lesson.

In his classroom across the hallway, JJ bounced his leg up and down beneath his desk in an absentminded urge to release the built up energy the anxiety produced in an over abundance.

popeheyward Our bad then. Even John B thought y'all were sus lmao.

Since when was that a known fact? Could he tell? Did he talk to Pope about him and Y/N before he died? Either way, it wasn't the time to pry about it.

kiara-c yeah you guys honestly could've fooled me if you wanted to

danknugstickiestickies well thank u, glad ur invested in our friendship but

danknugstickiestickies please help, i have no fucking clue how to act on a date and this girl is too cool for me to screw this up

That was when they finally dropped the interrogation session and started offering up tips. The best ones came from Kie, which made sense to him since women are more likely to know what other women like than two dudes who share one collective brain cell and never had real relationships.

Rule One: Be ready to pick her up five minutes early.

He wasn't ready to pick her up five minutes early. His bike broke down by the time he made it halfway down his street, so he had to push it back up the road and into the yard before setting off on foot to reach the Chateau quickly enough. And by quickly enough, it means he got there five minutes late, not early.

Rule Two: Compliment her after you get in the car.

She tossed him the keys to the Twinkie from across the hood, not giving him the chance to open the door for her, and it wasn't until they were setting off down the road that he remembered the next piece of advice he was given.

Side-eyeing her in his peripheral vision, he tried to find something to compliment her on specifically rather than the general compliments about her being pretty that she never fully believes when he says them. He was intending to say something about the skirt she had on, but when he chanced a glance over at her, she caught him and asked—

"What is it?"

Sent into panic mode, JJ blurted out instead, "I like your shoes."

He could've bashed his face against the steering wheel twenty times right then and there at the utter absence of reaction on her part for the next few uncomfortable seconds. It wasn't that it was a bad compliment. She appreciates any compliments at all...but her shoes were hidden from his view. Not to mention, they were the dirty, mustard yellow converse that the Pogues bash on a daily basis.

She laughed, lifting her leg to expose the sneaker on her right foot, and asked, "These? Dude, you roast me for these all the time. You and John B said they look like Big Bird shit on them."

The skin on the apples of his cheeks scorched hot with embarrassment, and he was never so glad that the overhead lights in the van were burnt out until that moment. He would've died on the spot if she saw him blush like that, face flushed pinker than sunburn. All he could do to save himself was murmur something about the color growing on him and keep driving in the direction of the theater with his hands white-knuckling the steering wheel he fantasized about banging his face into.

Rule Three: Insist on picking up the check.

In this case, it meant insist on buying the popcorn and drinks, and he miraculously managed to drop his wallet somewhere along the way when he ran over to the Chateau, so when he stepped up to the makeshift concession stand with her standing at his side, he felt around for his wallet in his jeans to no avail.

His thoughts echoed back to him, You gotta be fucking kidding me. Seriously? Is this actually happening right now?

"JJ, it's honestly fine," she said softly as he leaned over to search back of the Twinkie for the wallet. "We can look for it on your street right now if you want. It has your ID and stuff, you don't want a stranger to have that. We don't need to stay—"

It took all of his control to not shout it in reaction when he said, "No way. You've been waiting for this, and Kie ditched you, so I ain't ditching you too. We're staying."

His wallet could go kick rocks.

He came too far to be dragged down by the old leathery piece of shit anyway. Would he go out and search for it tirelessly the second the date ended? Hell yeah, that fucker had twenty dollars and his debit card in it, but he couldn't bear the thought of abandoning her or ruining her anticipated movie night by taking her out to search the streets with their phone flashlights for a wallet they might not find. He'd wait till the movies ended, take her home, then haul ass around the Cut searching for it after.

Thankfully, he found a couple bucks crumbled up in his front pocket while she scavenged for coins in the glove compartment, and they came up with enough to buy a water bottle and small popcorn to share together.

Rule Four: Don't have sex on the first date.

And it may sound easy enough to not act like a complete Neanderthal for the length of two movies, but the girl makes it pretty damn difficult if he's to say so himself.

That's what led him here, laying in the back of the sideways-parked Twinkie in the farthest corner of the outdoor theater with her practically on top of him. In any other instance, he wouldn't be opposed in the slightest, but with the cursed fourth rule in mind, he isn't too thrilled with the feeling of her hand rubbing up and down his thigh.

It isn't even meant to be sexual. They're constantly touching one another this way. She'll even slip her hands up under his shirt just to feel the warmth of his skin or when he asks her if she can get an itch on a part of his back he can't reach, but for some reason his brain is short circuiting right now.

The thing is, when Kie and Pope said he shouldn't do it on the first date, they meant it for his and Steph's made up circumstances, not his and Y/N's full-blown relationship without labels. When you've had sex with someone as many times as they have with each other, the hesitancy on the "first date" is nonexistent. It doesn't matter. But JJ, trying to follow the advice given to him to the letter for the sake of being the date she deserves, doesn't think about it that way.

It shouldn't be this nerve-wracking. They've been best friends since they were children, they've been flirting since they found out what basic attraction was in the first place, and they've been forming this relationship ever since John B died. Why can't he relax? Why is this so different compared to how easy it felt between them yesterday on the beach or today at lunch?

Rule Five: Be yourself.

It takes him another few moments of laying here with her before he realizes quite abruptly what went wrong in a quick flash of a thought that brings the fifth rule back to him. The problem wasn't the bike, or the weird compliment about her Big Bird sneakers, or the lost wallet.

The problem is him. The problem is that he's trying way too hard to make this something it isn't. The part about them that he adores so dearly is how they never have to try when they're together. With any other girl or guy, they'd have to fake something or act a certain way, yet when they're together, they can simply exist and everything is runs smoothly. That's not to say they don't disagree or bump heads, they do, but short of those outlier moments, it's easier than anything else they do in life.

His eyes flicker away from the screen for the first time since the movie began, which, by the way, is gruesome enough at times that he had to divert his eyes to prevent himself from seeing it happen. They land on where she lays, completely content with the night in spite of its mishaps, with her head propped up on the pillows they brought from the Chateau.

He wonders if she can tell he's acting differently. Surely she must notice. She's the type of person that typically never misses a thing, perfect for the gold hunt they went on in the summer with picking up the clues and helping her brother unravel the mystery, so maybe she noticed how flustered this date has him. Does it bother her? Does he bother her?

With a confirming glance back up at the movie to see nothing important happening, he can't fight the urge to speak anymore.

"Can I tell you something?"

His voice appearing through the darkness of the shut off van after spending the past half hour in complete silence makes her jolt at first before realizing who it was. Though she loves horror movies, she can't claim to not be affected by them. The night she falls asleep after watching one, she often finds herself compelled to turn a light on and keep her feet from dangling off the edge of the bed. It's worth the fear, though.

When she turns to look at JJ, there's a warm smile on her face. She's cuddled into his side with a hand placed casually atop his thigh, caressing with no purpose or intent, and her movement halts when the light from the movie on the projector allows her to see the expression on his face.

Anxiety has become an increasingly significant presence in his life with the recent events in mind; John B and Sarah, the four-hundred million dollars they lost out on, and dodging his father whenever he sneaks home to switch out the backpack of clothes and personal belongings he keeps at the Routledge house.

It manifests itself in jittery nerves, stomach pains, shortness of breath, and, at worst, panic attacks striking either at random or in response to a specific trigger. It's one of the few things he still tries to hide from her, and she tries not to push him too hard with opening up about it.

She abandons the movie for the time being and rolls onto her side to face him, upper body propped up on her elbow as she examines his face with downturned features.

"Of course," she says.

The words left unsaid are, "You can tell me anything. Whenever you need someone to listen, or to talk to about shit, you can tell me." He's heard her say it enough that he doesn't need to hear it now to know it's true.

There's a pause, then—

"I feel like I fucked this entire date up," he starts to ramble and cuts her off before she can think about saying what she wants to, "and I know it's okay to you. You have way too high of a tolerance for my bullshit, and I've been trying so hard to make this perfect, but all that did was screw it up."

She's left quiet for a second, taking it all in.

Maybe if he hadn't been so anxious about it, he would've realized what was wrong with his bike when he rode it home from school, or he would've noticed his wallet fall out of his pocket. The point is, he wishes he hadn't let the label attached to this freak him out so much. He isn't sure why it does, but it does.

But she doesn't do what he expects. She isn't drowning him in reassurances and, "It's okay's" because she knows he doesn't care for them much. When he, the most stubborn person she knows, apologizes for something he did, he doesn't want it to turn into the person accepting the apology coddling him.

Y/N sighs.

"Is that why you've been acting so different all night? I scared you with the whole ‘date’ thing, didn't I? It doesn't have to be a date if you don't want it to be."

What she doesn't know is that he wants it to be a date. He wants it to be a date so badly, he risked Pope and Kie finding them out for the sake of getting some proper advice on it, and now he's caught up in the same game of tug and war in his mind that always occurs when he wants to tell her the truth about his feelings for her.

Part of him doesn't understand why he doesn't outright say it. With every other girl he once showed interest in, he had no issues in letting them know he wanted them, but this is different. This isn't simply wanting someone, he thinks he's fallen for her. But whenever he says he's gonna grow a pair and tell her after all this time, he chokes. Involuntarily, he's reminded of his parents. Other than his friends saying it platonically, the only people to tell him they loved him were them, and with how they treated him, he sure as hell doesn't think that is love.

From his dad's brutal physical abuse to his mom's abandonment, he's too timid to tell her he loves her because of what could happen if she loves him back. Everyone else that has said that to him has either hurt him, died like John B did, or abandoned him.

He won't let that happen with him and Y/N. What they have, albeit undefined and codependent, is safe. It's the only thing he has left. Maybe it isn't right, and maybe he should open up about it to communicate the correct way, but somewhere in the misshapen logic of his mind, he correlates love to abandonment. And he doesn't want that to happen with her.

There are two sides of him at battle inside his mind. One side, the side that wants to do right by their relationship and actually communicate his feelings for once in his life, wants him to tell her everything. The other side, the side that responds based on the history of his past, wants him to hide it all.

"Will you be mad at me if we don't call it a date?" he asks.

She shakes her head.

The heavy sensation inside of JJ's chest nears a point of vitriolic violence against him as he starts to realize what he's doing to her, clearly letting her down, but he can't stop himself. Like a passive witness watching himself from outside of his body, the instantaneous trauma response to the sudden confrontation of his true feelings for her guides his actions without his permission. It shuts down any protest he has.

The sound of the movie fills the gap of silence between them the entire time. It’s a variety of bloodcurdling screams and disgusting sounds that would've made him gag if he weren't as distracted.

They can make out each other's faces through the darkness, but barely. It takes a flash of bright color from the film or a nearby car's lights turning on for them to fully see one another. Without the other knowing, they both put masks of calm and collected coolness on their faces despite the feelings raging beneath the surface—more so on his part than hers.

"Maybe," he says, pausing, "we should just keep things the way they've been."

As soon as the words leave his mouth, a soul-crushing amount of disappointment weighs her down. She said it was fine if he doesn't want it to be a date—and it is, she would never hold it against him—but that doesn't mean it can't hurt her. Things have been going so well, she almost thought...If tonight went well, she was thinking about no longer keeping it a secret, but if he said he wants things to stay the same, then maybe he isn't as ready for it as she is?

Meanwhile, JJ is on another page entirely.

She's embarrassed of being with you, a familiar voice in the back of his head croons. She's gonna leave just like everyone else does. If she doesn't even wanna tell your friends, why should you pretend you're dating?

The internal comments are the type that cause him to physically grimace when he's alone. Intrusive thoughts are just that: intrusive.

Sneaking into the guarded sanctuary of a person's mind, they set out to convince them the opposite of their reality. The only thing is, where most people's minds are guarded sanctuaries with walls of impregnable defense, his mind is the equivalent of a fortress blown to smithereens. The castle walls lay in rubble, the guards no where to be seen, and the path for these thoughts to slip past and straight to the vulnerability of his mind is left wide open.

In the privacy of his room, these thoughts attack him the most at night when he tries to fall asleep—when things get too quiet. With nobody around, when they get this bad there's nothing he can do except break down. It builds from the mere anxiety of attempting to force the thoughts away to full-blown panic attack mode. The more he resists them, the more aggressive they become. He'll gasp for air with tears streaming down his face, hitting his head with the heel of his hand as if that'd do something to stop his relentless mind.

But he can't afford to react in front of her, so the extent of his reaction is a subtle twitch of his face that she cannot see in the momentary darkness before the movie switches to another scene a second later. In a way, it does make the thoughts go away to have her here preventing him from spiraling alone. Having to focus on her keeps his mind away for moments at a time until the thoughts ease their grip on him.

When she hasn't answered for a while, he asks, terrified that he did something bad, "Are we good?"

The question seems to wake her up, snapping her out of the lonely direction her thoughts went into when he "rejected" her. It takes every bit of common sense she has left to force herself to understand that this doesn't mean he doesn't want her. He does, and not calling this a date doesn't mean they won't be together in the way they have been since John B's death, but she isn't perfect. She gets as unsure and insecure as he does.

As if the cloud of doom was lifted off of her, she makes her face lighten where she lays on her side next to him. Seeing this expression makes his chest feel less heavy, and he could let out a sigh of relief at the realization that he didn't break her heart and stomp on it. He should've known. Y/N is the sweetest person he knows, so she never would've flipped shit over him not wanting to label this as a date. That's not how she is.

And he's partly right. It isn't how she is. She would never hold it against him if he didn't want something further with her since she got herself into this position by pursuing him with his reputation with girls in mind, but she can't ignore it. Whether she wants it to or not, it had its affect on her as soon as he said it.

She leans in to kiss him, their lips meeting in the middle with the faint taste of popcorn salt mingling at the soft peck.

When she pulls away, she brushes the hair back from his face and says, "Don't worry. Nothing can change how I feel about you."

She has no clue what it feels like to hear that from her.

Despite the turmoil they unknowingly share beneath the surface due to this conversation, he could cry hearing her say it. It doesn't feel real to him that she feels the same way he does about her, because nothing could change how he feels about her either. That’s why he manages to work up the courage to repeat it back to her, and, for now, this is the closest he's physically capable of coming to telling her the truth.

"Ditto," he says.

It isn't what she wanted, but it's close enough, and if she dwells on this any longer, she might start getting too emotional and let the urge to tear up become too strong. Why does she have to be this sensitive? It's no secret that it's remarkably easy to make her cry, but this is insane to her. When all of this began with him, she didn't give a shit about him not wanting a label. She understood him, and she understood that he doesn't do this kind of thing, so why has it changed? Why doesn't she want to keep it a secret anymore? Why does she want this to be a date when she knows he doesn't want it to be?

Pulled by an invisible string back to him to silence her mind, she leans in to kiss him again with a hand cupping the back of his neck to guide him the rest of the way to her.

It shouldn't be laced with any sexual intention. She should be kissing him simply because she wants to, and, in a way, she is. Their kisses and touches are never lacking the motivation that is their underlying connection and mutual feelings for one another, but this is not the same. As he kisses her back with as much confidence and passion as always, she is reeling from the conversation that reminded her too much of a breakup.

It takes another minute of this for the kiss to heat up, their breathing becoming shallower in the moments they part to inhale, and she is undeniably the one instigating when she officially crosses the line between casual and sexual by crawling onto his lap. It's not hard for him to pick up on when their innocent moments take a turn. She's easy to read in that regard, and this has happened a multitude of times with them, so the shift of a mini make out session turning into something more is nothing out of the ordinary for them.

If he knew how shaken she is on the inside, he'd never want this. And the same would go for her if she knew what he was thinking before this. Neither of them wants to admit what they're feeling.

With her legs seated on either side of his hips, she kisses him like it's the last time she'll ever get the opportunity to. Her hands wander wherever they can, pulling at his shirt and feeling him up as his hands guide her hips to move against his in a steady grinding that she has no issue partaking in. It's an eagerness he hasn't seen from her in weeks. She's never un-excited when it comes to being physical with him either, but this is another level. The last time a girl was all over him like this, it was desperate touron at a party a few months ago.

In the span of time it takes her to glance over her shoulder to see if anyone could see them and reach to pull her skirt up until it bunches around her hips—no one can see them, by the way, since they got here late and were forced to cram the van into the back corner of the lot with no street lights illuminating the path—his brows raise at her presumptuous behavior. Not that he's one to complain, however, seeing as he's typically the one doing what she is.

Their next kiss clashes their teeth hard enough to make them wince, but he loves it. It makes him smirk into her parted mouth, alive with both the feeling her reassurance provided and the fuzzy-headed high that often finds him when they're together in this way. Incomparable to past flings or the high related to any drugs, she is the peak of everything to him. It's no contest.

His chest stutters against hers with a bout of amused laughter, asking within a brief pause in what feels like the most JJ thing he's said this awkward night, "Two for two in the Twinkie. What's gotten into you?"

Y/N's hand dips between where their bodies move together to unclasp the closed buckle of his belt in one smooth motion that has it falling apart with a clinking noise.

Her features are set with a look that tells him she means business. Whatever it is that sparked this, he wonders how the fuck to make it happen again another time. She's begged for it before, but never taken control so dominantly, and he can't deny what the role reversal does to him. The evidence is obvious in the distinct hardness she feels pressing up against the hand undoing his jeans.

"I was hoping it'd be you," she says, voice breathless and airy from the constant contact in a way that makes it ten times hotter for him.

If there were any chance of him not being in the mood prior to this, which wasn't the case anyway, it's gone now. He never wants to hear her say she doesn't deliberately try to tease him ever again.

He doesn't need to be told twice.

JJ surges forward to capture her mouth with his, this time with no intention of pulling away to breathe or speak again. No, he'll let himself get lightheaded and dizzy if it means he can stay with her for as long as possible.

With the circumstances of it all, them being visible to someone if they happened to pass by the open door of the van, they move at a pace quicker than usual. She's immediately helping him shimmy his jeans and underwear far enough down his hips to free his dick from the confines of his clothes, making him sigh out a breath of relief when her hand brushes against him in the process.

There's no opportunity to slow down, it has exploded into a full-throttle speed race that neither of them can halt.

His hand blindly flies out beside him to grope the floor of the van for the set of keys he tossed carelessly to the side once the movie started, eyes shut in the midst of the hot, messy kiss they share. His fingers find the fabric of one of the blankets they brought in case they got cold, then drifts again and lands on her Big Bird sneakers until he feels the sharp metal of her keys meet his calloused palm.

After the events of last summer, she bought a switch blade to keep on her key ring alongside the keys to the van, HMS Pogue, and Chateau. She may not like violence or weapons, seeing as she was a skeptic of JJ keeping the gun alongside her friends, but she saw it necessary. Between Rafe, Topper, and Kelce, how could she leave the safety of her and her friends up to chance knowing what some of the kooks did to them not long ago? What happened to Pope on the golf course alone was enough to make her skin crawl.

Right now, though, the knife flips out from the pressure of his thumb pushing the button to release it. He holds it out away from her at first to assure it doesn't nick her in the process, then uses his other hand to tug the side of her panties that hugs her hip far out enough to press the sharp side of the blade onto the inside of it.

She can hardly believe what she's watching as JJ cuts the delicate maroon underthings from her body as if he were doing something so normal, like it's something he's done before. Her forehead is pressed against his, her mouth parted both in shock and in a need to pant for oxygen, and she watches the knife ruin her favorite panties. The stitches come apart with a satisfying ripping noise that can hardly be heard over the sound of people reacting to the movie in the background.

Other customers of the Cherry Bowl Drive-In are too glued to the screen as a beloved character is chased down, reacting in shouts when she's seized by the killer and shoved onto the table of an industrial bread slicer, so they remain wholly unnoticed.

The lace, now ripped in half, dangles on the tip of the knife when he lifts it away from her, tosses it aside, and presses the button once more to retract the blade. It clatters to the floor, but is in no way forgotten with them resuming in a desperation to keep going until they both satisfy the need clawing at them from the inside. But her sense of need is different from his, and even with the fresh memory of him with the switch blade in mind, she's still somewhere else the whole time.

Her mind is faraway, muted through layers of sadness, anger, and disappointment as he reaches between them to line himself up to her entrance. The sensation of him running his cock, hard and messy with a few drops of precome, through her dripping pussy to coat it in her slick arousal is enough to make her moan pathetically. Yet when he's about to guide himself inside of her, she stops him.

"Wait, wait, wait," she breathes out rapidly, heart pounding so hard she can feel herself pulsating between her thighs, "Condom."

They were so antsy to get to it, they almost forgot.

"Fuck," he curses under his breath, and his eyes flicker from where they were trained between their bodies to glance back and forth around the van before it hits him. "I lost my wallet..."

But right when he thinks their public rendezvous in the back of the Drive-In is over due to his unfortunate mistake, she shakes her head and slips away from her perch astride his lap to crawl over to her bag.

She fumbles with the old tote bag and plunges her arm in to sift through the hodge podge of things that are purely Y/N in nature—stickers, glitter pens, a half-eaten bag of candy, etc—for the square foil package she decided to toss in before she left just in case. She usually doesn't keep them on her because he never fails to have one, but, thankfully, she had the random instinct to bring it tonight.

The only thing to bring her out of her cloudy, malevolent storm of feelings when she settles back onto his lap with the condom wrapper ripped open for him is him saying, "So you planned this, huh?" with his mouth tipped in a familiar self-satisfied grin.

She didn't plan it. In fact, she threw herself at him the second she sensed him withdrawing from her and can't stop herself despite the fact that she constantly feels two seconds away from letting a tear slip down her cheek. If that counts as "planning it", then sure.

"Maybe so," she answers, cool, calm, and collected—the antithesis of the truth.

They usually don't lie to each other.

They're thrown right back into it without any other hiccups once he rolls the condom on, and he takes in a shaky breath at her hand wrapping around him to align their bodies up. Before she can do anything, though, he takes chance to swipe the blanket he found a moment ago and wrap it around her back to keep her covered in case they get caught.

Y/N sinks down onto his cock with her lip caught between her teeth to stifle the sound that threatens to escape. JJ, on the other hand, doesn't bother concealing the sound of the groan he makes at the sensation of having her wrapped around him like this. The tension in her entire body from the anticipation and the looming threat of being seen by someone has her squeezing him so tightly, he can't help but be a little louder than he should.

Her soft palm slaps over his mouth with enough pressure to force his groan to quiet itself, and she watches his pretty blue eyes widen in reaction to the dominant action. Who is this girl and what has she done with his sweet, submissive Y/N? Don't get him wrong, he is very turned on by it, but it's unlike her to take the lead this way. He can't figure it out.

"What's wrong, angel?" she asks in a whisper into his ear, her hand over his mouth and her hips starting to slowly rock against him, "Watch the movie."

Once the words leave her mouth, she drops her hand, just in case he wants to stop and can't say anything because she had his mouth covered, and JJ is pretty sure he's died and gone to heaven.

He doesn't watch the movie, not at all, because he's too busy watching her. For someone losing their mind internally, she does not let it show, nor does she let it distract her from what's happening. If anything, the distraction in this situation is the sex, not what's going on inside of her head.

There's a moment of adjustment and going as slowly and gently as possible while waiting for the dull pressure of feeling him inside of her to fade away, but, for the most part, she doesn't waste any time. As soon as she feels comfortable enough with the ache between her thighs giving way to a spark of pleasure when she grinds her clit down on his pubic bone, she starts to ride him at a better pace than the initial slow movements of her hips.

She raises herself up and takes him again inch by inch, enjoying the sense of fullness she gets from having to fit him in spite of the slight discomfort at first, and she could swear that he'll leave bruises in the shape of his handprints with how tightly he clutches her hips. It's all he can do to prevent himself from moaning or saying something, ever the vocal lover she's come to know.

Unless his mouth is preoccupied like it was on the beach yesterday afternoon, JJ is usually impossible to shut up, especially in this context. With him always whispering dirty things to her, whether it be praises, pet names, or plans on what he wants to do to her, she has come to find it breathtakingly hot. He could likely get away with saying something if he wanted to, but he isn't sure he wants to risk it. If he opens his mouth to spew something filthy to her, he won't trust himself not to make a louder, different kind of noise that won't fit in the with background audio the other moviegoers are listening to.

The wet sound of their bodies colliding that fills the space of the van is drowned out by the loud and violent sequence occurring on the screen far ahead of them, and hearing it makes her bounce herself on him a little harder. She's fueled on by it all, and, strangely, what happened before she practically pounced on him is the main contributor.

Similarly to the nature of his intrusive thoughts, the harder she resists the memory of how it felt when he told her he didn't want this to be a date, the more forceful it is in its return. Her eyes trail down to watch where they connect with her forehead pressed to his, then she's thrown back into the feeling of helpless disappointment and insecurity. His head tips back against the window with his bottom lip dropped open and his brows furrowed just enough to create a crease on his forehead, and she's bombarded with the look of relief on his face when he realized he didn't have to be tied down to her with a label.

It makes her want to get rougher, harder, and she doesn't even care if it'll make her sore later on. She presses herself down so far every time she slides down on his cock, her teeth draw blood on her lip with how hard she must bite it to remain quiet. The pain of her hipbones rubbing against his doesn't even matter to either of them at this point. They're both too lost in the pleasure that has begun to take control of them to care about something as minuscule as that, or the burn in her thighs from the repetitive physical strain.

She grabs his wrist and brings his hand between them, flattening hers overtop of it and pressing down on the base of her abdomen in the midst of the increasingly feverish thrusts.

"Feel you here," she murmurs to him through a quiet moan, hoping he can hear it over the movie, and pushes down on his hand for emphasis. And if the way he reacts by cursing under his breath tells her anything, it's that he picked up on it. "JJ..."

He reaches out to grab her by the throat with his free hand and tug her forward to kiss him, as if something inside of him snapped in response to her doing that. The motions of her jolting up and down throws the already messy and uncoordinated kiss off-kilter, but they don't mind. It has them separating every time she lifts up, producing this heady little head rush from from them breathing in each other's air without actually letting their mouths meet in the middle.

Though they're trying their hardest not to alert anyone outside of what's happening, it didn't occur to him until now, when his eyes catch John B's old bandana swinging back and forth where it's secured around the rear view mirror.

They're worried about moaning while the entire fucking Twinkie is rocking with their movements. Well, at least it makes good use of the corny sticker he gifted John B last year as a gag gift. He tried to peel it off after JJ snuck it onto the side window to no avail. So, now Y/N is stuck with a sticker on her car reading, "If the van's a-rockin', come on in, we like orgies," rather than the more common phrase.

It almost makes him start laughing, and he prays no one takes that shit seriously, 'cause he is never intent on sharing this breathtaking girl. Ever.

Y/N isn't anywhere near laughing like he is, in fact, she's finding it difficult to keep herself together. She feels her eyes sting with the promise of tears, and she's never felt so pathetic before. Is she seriously about to cry during sex? Is she really that girl that is so ill-equipped to handle rejection, she can't get through it without tears?

She won't cry. Perhaps if he sees how glossy her eyes have become in a rare moment of good lighting, she can blame it on the hand around her throat putting pressure on the sides of her neck.

The worst part about her being near to crying is the timing of it.

The emotion of what she feels mentally mixes with the swirling, building sensation she feels in the pit of her stomach that tells her she's close to going over the edge, and it's so overwhelming. Was she imagining that their friendship had changed? More importantly, is this all she'll ever be to him? Sex is the only thing she's sure of with him, it's the only thing that doesn't require deeper emotions, and when the ground beneath their fragile relationship felt shaky...

He can feel her starting to unravel, and he knows that he'll come before she does if he doesn't do anything now, so he decides to take control.

JJ pulls the hand he had resting on her abdomen away as though he were burned by it, wrapping his arm around her waist to steady her body against his and using the hand around her neck for leverage to thrust up into her, effectively reducing her to a teary-eyed, moaning mess atop him. They both stopped caring about making noise the second he began to fuck her like this.

She cries out in ecstasy at the sudden change in pace and depth that has him hitting all the right places. Every time he thrusts up into her, just as rough as she wished for, the tip of his cock nudges into that perfect spot inside of her that makes her incapable of silencing her moans. This time, it's JJ that puts his hand over her mouth, letting the one he had around her neck move away to keep her from alerting everyone around them of what's happening.

There's nothing she can do to stop her climax as it barrels through her in its initial sweeping wave of bliss to contrast the venomous doubts in her mind. She's never felt such conflicting, yet powerful feelings before—the intensity of the physical pleasure that makes her whine into the palm of his hand, then the part of her mind replaying every word he said in their conversation before this.

Her body is rigid and tense through it all, squeezing down around his cock with the involuntary spasms of her orgasm, and he can't help himself anymore. All it takes are a few more frantic thrusts for him to bury himself inside of her one last time and spill into the condom, uncovering her mouth so he can drown out his own groans into a kiss.

Their skin sticks to their clothes on the inside with sweat from the exertion of their actions, and he can feel her stomach tremble where it presses up against his with each undulation of her hips that meet his as he rides it out.

But even with the added distraction of the sex, she can't rid herself of the feeling that started plaguing her as soon as things went awry. That was why he was acting weird all night. He must have been so worried about her thinking this was anything more than their typical hangouts that he couldn't bring himself to act normally.

She forces herself to look happy when they pull away from the kiss, panting, and JJ, unaware of what she's been thinking, doesn't notice the small deception.

Tag list: @gabiatthedisco

[therealvinelle]

I know this is like taking a bat to the beehive but... I really wanna hear your opinions on the whole... Imprinting thing

(Note before we go any further: this meta is written purely about the shapeshifting aspect of the Quileute characters, I don’t at all get into the racism in Twilight or any kind of social commentary. This is a purely watsonian meta. Others in this fandom have already addressed the racial dynamics at play, far more eloquently and knowledgeably than me. If I say something in here that’s in any way offensive, that’s not my intention and I’m open to criticism.)

Ooh imprinting.

I touch upon it here, basically I hate it.

The imprinting is part of this theme where the shapeshifters lose their free will and autonomy, and I find it tragic, cruel, and unnecessary.

First of, the fact that they have to phase at all.

They’re made warriors to protect their tribe. There’s no choice involved, only genetics and magic irrevocably changing their lives, and at a ridiculously young age, too. Sam is the oldest of them, and he is 19.

Violence is an inherent part of what they become. Their purpose is to protect the tribe, by fighting vampires. Not only is this insanely dangerous (we see Jake get so injured by a single vampire that he’s bedridden for weeks), but if they succeed, they will have killed. In the singularly brutal manner of tearing apart and burning someone who looks a lot like a human, who talks and might beg for their life, at that. And I remind you, most of these shapeshifters are literal children. They might not see vampires as people, but all the same, killing one can’t be good for their mental wellbeing. (Thought: Perhaps an argument can be made for Laurent’s death having a part in the turn Jake’s personality took? Some, though not many, of the symptoms for PTSD do fit. I don’t know enough about PTSD to pursue this train of thought, but it occurred to me just now, in particular he becomes quite aggressive and prone to outbursts after that incident, so into a parenthesis it goes)

Not to mention how inhumane that responsibility is. Vampires in the Twilight-verse are terrifying, and the shapeshifters might have the power to fight them. But (and this is where I plug one of my all-time favorite animes, Puella Magi Madoka Magica, as it asks the question “Is it okay to sacrifice yourself for others?” because that’s... well there’s a parallel to be made to the shapeshifters. It’s on Netflix!) does that mean they should? Is it really their responsibility? Again- they’re kids!

Then there’s the time Sam lost control, and accidentally mauled the girl he loved. And it’s so cruel to both him and Emily. Sam never chose to have to control himself in the first place, he never chose shapeshifting. He didn’t choose to imprint on Emily either, and he didn’t choose to lose control that day. At no point in the series of events that led to Emily being mauled did Sam have any real choice, and yet he will shoulder the guilt for what happened for the rest of his life.

These kids get superpowers, and several of them seem to enjoy being shapeshifters, but the fact remains that they now carry this huge responsibility to protect their families and homes, doing so is incredibly dangerous, they lose out on their regular lives, and they can’t opt out of it.

This all sucks, but then we get to the fact that they are deprived of their free will, as their alpha can issue an order they physically can’t break. The alpha becomes alpha because of bloodlines, not because of a democratic election. Jake got a mockery of a choice in that he could choose to become alpha himself, or let Sam continue, which was really just choosing between a rock and a hard place. There is no limitation to what this order can be, from “don’t say X to person Y” to “let’s kill someone you love”. Jake has to struggle to break that last one, and he’s only successful because of the bloodline thing letting him become his own alpha.

Oh, and there’s the massive invasion of privacy when they have a hive mind. Cool concept, less cool to have it be reality. Leah is the poster child for how a hive mind can backfire, and they can’t opt out of this.

I’m not good at gifs, but the shapeshifters just make me think of that gif of someone flicking a lightswitch on and off, “WELCOME TO HELL!”. Of course, Twilight in general is a pit of despair for everybody, so I suppose that gif really is... well it sums up all of canon.

So, we have these kids aged 19 or younger, as of Breaking Dawn they skew as young as thirteen, their lives are turned upside down by something they can’t opt out of, they must shoulder this huge responsibility to protect their homes and families from the terrifying threat of vampires, and on top of all of that, they must obey orders that are so irresistible, they can compel them to harm someone they care for.

With all of that in mind, you’d think that the shapeshifters had enough on their plate. That through all of this they would at least retain their selves, and be able to look forward to a future where they could stop phasing, and go on to live normal, human, lives.

Yeah, NOT IF THEY IMPRINT.

I’ll just quote Jake’s description:

Everything inside me came undone as I stared at the tiny porcelain face of the halfvampire, half-human baby. All the lines that held me to my life were sliced apart in swift cuts, like clipping the strings to a bunch of balloons. Everything that made me who I was—my love for the dead girl upstairs, my love for my father, my loyalty to my new pack, the love for my other brothers, my hatred for my enemies, my home, my name, my self—disconnected from me in that second—snip, snip, snip—and floated up into space. 

I was not left drifting. A new string held me where I was. 

Not one string, but a million. Not strings, but steel cables. A million steel cables all tying me to one thing—to the very center of the universe. 

I could see that now—how the universe swirled around this one point. I’d never seen the symmetry of the universe before, but now it was plain. 

The gravity of the earth no longer tied me to the place where I stood. (Breaking Dawn, page 237)

Everything that made me who I was disconnected from me.

Jake’s love for his father, his home, his very own self, it’s all gone now. And while I have thoughts on the authenticity of this imprint, whether it was organic, the description above is apparently how imprinting feels. It’s along the lines of what Sam, Jared, and Paul all describe.

I don’t think I can put into words just how devastating I find imprinting, I think the above quotation speaks for itself. And as with all other shapeshifter things, there is no choice involved.

We see its devastating effects in the Emily, Sam, and Leah debacle. Sam and Leah were serious together, so much so that they were engaged. Sam had fallen for and chosen to be with Leah. Perhaps they would have broken up eventually, but Leah was still the choice he made. Then he imprints on Emily, and all that is for naught. He had to break up with Leah, who if she hadn’t phased never would have learned why, Emily and Leah’s relationship is ruined, and Emily must forever live with the knowledge that if Sam had his free will intact he would be with another woman.

Then there’s Jared and Kim. Kim crushed on Jared, but Jared never noticed her. The fact that they were in the same class is damning: if a boy is attracted to a girl, he's gonna notice her. Jared never did.

Quil imprints on Claire, who is a toddler. That’s just a recipe for misery and disaster all around.

And I’ve only touched the shapeshifter side of things. They lose their autonomy and freedom, but the imprintées draw the short straw too. They’re now responsible for this other person’s happiness. Sure, having someone who’ll be whatever you need them to be sounds nice (well, it sounds horrifying, but I’m playing ball) on paper, but you can’t opt out of them being like that. The imprintée can’t say “Sorry, not interested,” and she certainly can’t shut the imprinter out of her life, not without irrevocably ruining the imprinter’s life. The imprinter needs her. She’s the center of his earth now, but she didn’t choose to be.

Imprinting is a liferuiner for everyone involved.

Then we have the question of what imprinting is even for. I’m afraid I agree with Billy, that it’s for procreation. We see Sam, who was dating a woman about to phase (even if Leah isn’t infertile, she’s a warrior now. She can’t run in the woods and fight vampires, and gestate and nurse a child at the same time) conveniently imprint on her cousin, who as cousin to Leah is from a shifter bloodline. Claire, as Emily’s cousin, has those same genetics. Paul imprints on a woman from the Black family line. Jake is the outlier, but either Renesmée’s gift helped that imprinting along, or he imprinted because of the offspring they could potentially have (I firmly believe it’s the former because the latter... NOPE. Also, I can’t imagine whatever magic drives imprinting would want vampiric progeny for the future generations. Regardless of Renesmée’s person, her biology is wired to desire human blood. That’s exactly what Jake is supposed to protect people from. Bad match.).

I just.... ughhh. God, I hate imprinting so much, and on every level.

To me, everything about the shapeshifters is about free will, autonomy, and the loss thereof. And it would have been beautiful if their story was about reclaiming that, but it isn’t. None of this, with the exception of the alpha orders, is even acknowledged.

So, in summation, yes I hate imprinting, but it’s only the horror cherry on top of a very sad and problematic cake.

[adorerdraco]

I’m Here ✧ Draco x Reader

Request: Hi, so I’m not sure if you’re taking these kinds of fics for Draco, but I’ve been feeling really down lately, and I was wondering if you could write a one shot or a scenario where the reader has been having a really bad day/week and Draco comforts them? And maybe Draco lays the reader on his chest and he hums a small tune to make the reader feel better? You can ignore this if it’s an issue, but I’d really appreciate it. I love all of your fics btw! They make me really happy <3

Warnings: none bc mostly fluff, some tears, super soft!draco

Words: 1.9K

A/N: i saw this and had to do it effective immediately bc i am feeling the exact same wayyy so this was really nice to think about ;( thank you so much for requesting this and for reading my stuff and i’m so glad i can help in a way <3 i’m sending you nothing but peace, love, and light !!! but i really hope this is gooood <3 do not own gif

Life was punishing you, you thought. It had to be. Because there was no way how in the span of a week everything in your day-to-day life had gone from okay to borderline catastrophic. It was as if every situation you were in was taking its form in the worst case possible scenario and all you could do was watch hopelessly as things continuously got worse sprinkled with small misfortunes in between.

It started on a regular Monday morning, sitting down for breakfast in the Great Hall with blissful ignorance. Halfway through eating your toast, your owl had come in through the open large glass windows and dropped a letter onto your plate from home that left you some very unfortunate news and had set forth a ripple effect that began making everything else go downhill as your days progressed. By the end of the school week, you had managed to blow up a potion, lose house points because of said potion when it splashed onto some people and had some physically altering effects, tripped over your footing and fell in the middle of a crowded corridor, failed a surprise quiz, forgot to turn in an essay, got into an argument with a friend, accidentally slept in and missed a morning class, and took a trip to the hospital wing for a migraine that didn’t want to leave you alone. You could’ve sworn you had somehow been thrown into purgatory, or limbo, or something outer-worldly. 

“Are you alright?” Draco had asked you right after breakfast that Monday morning as he was walking you to your first class. “What was in the letter your owl gave you? You look worried.”

“It was nothing,” you dismissed quickly, trying to put on a half-hearted smile while you spoke to make it more convincing. “I’m fine, just tired.”

It was the beginning of the week, and he did keep you up late the night before when you were sneaking around together, so he just shook his head up and down and took your excuse even though he felt like there was more to it than you were letting on. But as the days went on, he was becoming more observant of the way you were acting and even looking. He didn’t like that every morning he saw the shadows under your eyes get deeper and darker, and he didn’t like how you would close your eyes in pain when you would groan about your headache. He also didn’t like the way he hadn’t seen you truly smile or laugh all week even when he tried countless times to amuse you or cheer you up. But what he didn’t like most of all was that he felt like there was nothing he could do. 

On Wednesday afternoon, he tried asking you again. You were sitting in the Quad with him on a bench and he was telling you a story from earlier in the day about how he had ‘accidentally’ tripped this Gryffindor boy and got Snape to take away house points from him that he thought for sure would you make laugh or perhaps give him a disapproving redirection, but when he glanced up to see your reaction, he noticed you weren’t even listening, to begin with. You had been staring down at your shoes and the way they lined up against the cracks in the pavement, kicking around some gravel as your mind was running a million thoughts per second.

“Love?” He said to you softly. You looked up at him swiftly with a quiet questioning hum, e/c eyes widened slightly from being ripped away from your thoughts suddenly. “You know if something’s bothering you, you can talk to me.”

“I know,” you nodded warmly. “I’m okay, Dray. I’m honestly just tired.”

And you were telling the truth, in a sense. You really were tired; physically, mentally, emotionally.

He frowned, dissatisfied with your answer. “Right, well if anything at all comes up, I’m here.”

From then on, Draco took it upon himself to try and increase his affections and compliments. He would hug you a little tighter, kiss you a little longer, whisper sweet little nothings into your ear before he left you for class. You felt a little bad lying to him, withholding the truth from him, and you saw the concern in his light gray’s when you’d meet him in the mornings and for the rest of the day, but it only made you feel a tad bit worse. You were starting to feel guilty for the way he was worrying, feeling like you were dragging him down into the dumps with you and raining on his usual carefree parades.

On Friday morning, you didn’t meet him for breakfast and you were out of the Great Hall faster than he could catch you. He felt like a stalker when he walked by your class, peeking his head in to see if you were there and well. He spotted you sitting at your desk, hunched over your unopened books with a grimace on your face and your head in your hands. He wanted to go in and whisk you away to somewhere far and quiet, but the Professor had caught him by the door and sent him on his way before he could even think of doing anything of the sort.

You felt the day had gone by extremely slow, relative to how the week was moving and also impossibly dismal. You were counting down the minutes until the end of the school day, ready to run to your dorm right after your last class and bury yourself deep into your duvet and pillows for the rest of the weekend.

Head still pounding, you trudged over to your final class, stopping outside the doors when you saw a small group of your housemates standing around with unnerved expressions as they passed each other papers and spoke in hushed tensed tones.

“I studied all night but my friend took the test earlier and she told me during lunch that it had stuff on it that wasn’t even in the reading!” You heard one exclaim in distress.

“We have a test?” You accidentally said aloud and a pair of eyes turned to look at you confusingly.

“Yeah? Professor’s been telling us all week.”

A scoff of disbelief escaped your lips, an overwhelming sense of defeat washing over you as you turned briskly on your heel and in the opposite direction of your classroom. Tears started pricking at your eyes, you felt the stinging of them wanting to be released but you refused to let them all out in the open and especially in front of people who were still taking their time to head to their classes. 

You were making a beeline towards your common room, blinking rapidly to try and clear your vision that was quickly pooling with unshed tears while trying to steady your breathing in another failed attempt to calm yourself. You were nearly there, you could tell by the paintings and doors that you passed by and the black stain splattered on the floor you saw every day on your way to the dorms from someone’s dropped ink bottle that Filch hasn’t been able to get rid of. 

Almost there, you kept repeatedly reminding yourself.

All hope of solace was gone when you didn’t notice the body you had unknowingly crashed into. All you felt were strong hands around your biceps, holding you in place from toppling backward and the very familiar scent of expensive cologne and mint.

“Y/N? Why aren’t you in class?” You looked up at the platinum blond sadly, his worried eyes searching yours with such care that it pushed you over the edge.

You didn’t answer him and instead wrapped your arms tightly around Draco’s middle, burying your face deep into his robes and letting out quiet and frail weeps that broke his heart. He held you tightly, pressing kisses to the top of your head and muttering soft “I’m here’s” into your hair. You stayed in his embrace for a few minutes, letting your tears freely fall into his vest with a sense of relief that only he was able to give you at this point in time.

“I’m sorry I cried on you,” you choked out when you pulled away from him, desperately wiping away at your eyes with the back of your sleeve.

“You don’t ever have to apologize for that,” he said quickly. He brought his hand up to your face, his thumb swiping delicately over a stray tear that was sitting on your jaw while you closed your eyes in comfort. “Do you want to go back to my room? I can set you up really nicely and we can talk if you’d like?”

“Yes please, I’d like that a lot.”

Draco interlocked your fingers with his, bringing the pair up to his lips with a warm kiss on the back of your hand before walking the two of you over to the entrance of the Slytherin common room. It was empty when you walked in, not a soul in sight since everyone was still in class and it made it much easier for him to sneak you into his singular Prefect room you were now extremely grateful he had. He watched contently when you shed off your robes and kicked off your shoes and immediately slipped into one of his dark green jumpers that fit you big. 

You were perched on the edge of his bed, his scent from his sweater engulfing you and doing a much better job of calming you down than you wanted to admit. He followed in your footsteps and changed into something comfier and when he finally sat beside you with his hand falling over yours as an encouragement to talk - you did. You vented to him all about the letter from home, the migraine, your classes, the argument between you and your friend, and everything else that came to mind.

“And I feel bad for ignoring you and not telling you all this before but I didn’t want to burden you,” you finished with sniffles, gazing up at him with a gloomy expression. 

“Y/N, I love you, and nothing you say to me is a burden,” he frowned slightly, “when I tell you I’m here, I mean it, for anything. You’re so important to me and it kills me to see you upset.”

In a careful movement, he had scooted towards you and affectionately cupped your face before placing a loving kiss on your forehead and murmured to you, “don’t ever hesitate to come to me.”

You let him pull you under his covers, draping his large duvet over your entangled bodies with your head resting right above his chest, the steady beatings of his heart instantly sending you into a much-needed peace. His chin was rested right atop your head and you felt his fingers run up and down your arm soothingly while he thought.

“Is there anything else I can do to make you feel better?” He asked quietly.

“Can you help me fall asleep?” you muttered, closing your eyes gently when his hand smoothed over the back of your hair. You felt him nod against your head and after a small moment silence, you heard him begin to hum the faint tune of your favorite song.

You lied there in bliss, enjoying the way his chest was vibrating against your ear and the way his fingers were playing with the ends of your hair, curling the strands around his fingers and then moving upwards to massage your scalp. And for a minute, everything was finally okay again as you drifted off into a peaceful sleep, a full heart and with your love calmly lulling you away with a soft and now distant humming.

[buckybarnesdiaries]

; i'm coming home

© gif credits to the author, i found it on google. if you own it, send me a message with your @.

bucky barnes x reader ⎢ masterlist.

bucky and you met six years ago in romania, but he disappeared. now, he's back.

word count: 1.8k.

warnings/tags: none.

author notes: none of my stories contain reader’s body descriptions to be inclusive.

Join the tag list here.

requests are open.

Six years had passed since the last time he was with you, before disappearing overnight. He didn't give you any explanation, he didn't even leave a note. He needed to protect you, but he also knew how stubborn you were and that you wouldn't let him take that decision for both. So Bucky simply left, breaking your heart in one thousand pieces. You wanted to understand his reasons, but you couldn't. He promised you eternal love, a life together, moving out of New York —maybe to a remote place where anyone could recognize him and have peaceful days, without having to be worried about someone coming after him. About someone trying to hurt you.

Since the very first moment you met in Romania, Bucky fell in love with you. Sometimes you still remembered how he started talking to you in Romanian, guessing you were from there until you laughed and replied in English. The next few weeks were like a daydream. Walks, romantic dates, nights of stargazing. Then, you came back to New York and kept in touch by letters, as in the forties or fifties. Until one day. Your friends invited you to a museum and what you discovered there was unbelievable. James, your James, was Captain America's best friend. And he was supposed to be dead.

You wrote to him. You told him you knew it. You told him you didn't care, that you could figure out how to escape from that situation. Together. But he never sent you a letter back. You weren't able to forget him after all that time, still sleeping every night with his red shirt, stupidly fantasizing about the idea of Bucky coming back to you. And your hopes increased when you watched him on TV. The Avengers found him and, even if you tried to contact them somehow to defend your James, you never got it. Nobody believed you, not even when you showed them the letters, not the only picture you conservated of both of you in Bucharest. You prayed to God to help him. You begged God to the world seeing him as you did.

But when Bucky was released on parole, he never tried to look for you. He did know you lived in New York and, with his resources, he'd have known in less than five minutes. One year had passed, and you ended up losing the most minimal hope wrapping your heart. All those things he told you once, were just lies. Lies to inventing a parallel life until you left Romania. Only replying to your letters to have something to lean on for his own good. That's what he demonstrated to you.

bucky's pov

Like every night since he earned part of his freedom, Bucky stared at the windows of your apartment, from the opposite sidewalk hidden behind a tree. Like a ghost. Like he was trained to see but not be seeing. Every night, he wanted to cross the road, call to your door, kiss you, hug you, feel your touch and your love —hold you, and never let you go again. But he knew it was risky, he knew he had to wait for the right time. And it came. Tonight it came. His year of therapy had ended and he was free. Bucky was free to come back home.

He had been watching you since it started, making sure you were safe and sound. He also was aware that you never rebuilt your life with another man, that you tried to find him. That you slept every night with his shirt. Bucky was also aware of all the times you cried for him, that you always walked the same way from your job to your apartment expecting to meet him in some street close to it. He knew you better than you knew yourself.

Taking a deep, deep breath, keeping his hands inside the pockets of his coat, the soldier put a step on the road. The first step to happiness. And then, no one could stop him. He continued to the front door of the building, not needing more than a push to open it. Third floor, fifth door at the right of the corridor. Bucky licked his bottom lip nervously, swallowing as he took a master key from one of his pockets and a small metallic stick to force the lock of your house. He needed to be fast and stealthy, ringing the bell wasn't an option for very obvious reasons. Breaking into the apartment, he closed the door quietly behind his back.

The lights were all turned off a couple of hours ago when you went to sleep, after sitting on the window of your living room waiting for someone who wasn't going to show up, as every night for the last six years. The whole place smelled sweet like you used to. Bucky never forgot your scent, using it as the encouragement he needed to continue fighting for his freedom, for a life together. Now, his heart was racing so quickly that the whole city could hear his beats.

Slowly, he toured the entrance, the living room, the hallway straight to your dorm. The door was half-closed. Not a single noise coming from the inside. Bucky walked towards it, pushing it in slow motion, trying to not wake you up. And if he knew before that could be that easy to watch you sleep —for creepy that it sounded— he would have watched you every night since he landed in New York.

Bucky wasn't sure about what to do. If he should wake you up, if he should let you sleep and come the next day after you finished your work. When he wanted to realize, he was running the nail of his index finger on your soft cheek. Your skin was still warm, which meant you fell asleep crying again. And that broke his heart, his soul. Being conscious of all the pain and the suffering he made you being through all that time was killing him from inside. And he wished he could have handled your relationship in another way. But there wasn't another way without you being collateral damage of his past.

Bucky was about to leave when he suddenly felt a hit to his collarbone, stumbling to the bed. He didn't have time to react when your right leg was beneath his cold arm and pinning down his neck, as your left leg was laced around it. Your hand gripping his wrist, immobilizing him, pointing at him with a loaded gun between your free fingers. Your breathing became erratic, your pulse was beating faster than ever, but you were ready to shoot if the occasion required it.

In the middle of the gloom you glimpsed at those deep oceanic blue eyes you had been craving to look at for years. The same eyes on the picture on your nightstand. It has to be another dream. Another nightmare where Bucky came to tell you that everything was going to be okay. But his touch felt so real that it hurt like a million flames burning down your body to ashes. You were paralyzed. Your brain collapsed. In a very slow motion, James —your James— raised his right hand from the mattress to above his chest, bringing it to the gun aimed at his head. You couldn't stop him. You tried with all your strength. But the commands sent by your neurons never reached the finger supported against the trigger.

His flesh digits made their way to your trembling hand, as the tears started to sprout out from your eyes. Bucky took the weapon, not needing to ask you to release it, to put it away from the two of you.

“It's okay, draga mea, it's me…” He whispered with such an angelical and melodic voice, over your dolorous sobs. “May I, uh… get my arm back?”

Bit by bit, you obeyed as if it was some kind of polite order, loosening the grip around his arm and over his neck. Stepping back till your body collided with the headboard, you curled up your knees to your furious chest rising and falling, hiding your face between the gap of both. Your cry became louder, agonic, painful, ripping your throat.

“No— Not again… Not again, please… I c— can't”. You implored sorely.

Bucky didn't need to be a genius to understand you firmly believed it was just part of another of your dreams. Another of your nightmares. He sat upon your bed, coming closer to you and landing his cold metallic hand on the back of your head, urging you to raise it. You did. You did raise your burning face because of the tears falling, running down your cheeks. Your blurry gaze focused on his pale blue eyes, begging you silently to forgive him.

“I'm here… I'm back”. Bucky murmured, gently touring your skin until reaching a side of your neck, caressing your throat by using his thumb. “This is not a dream, draga mea. This is real”.

His intentions weren't to scare you, speaking to you with such a honeyed tone of voice as he shortened the distance between his body and your legs yet curled. You pouted unconsciously, watching him leaning above your legs to press his lips on the bridge of your nose. Slowly, fondly. Wanting to transmit to you that the flame of his love for you never went out. Resting his forehead against yours, your right hand flew straight to the back of his neck. You had never needed more than you needed him at that precise instant, trying to believe that that wasn't a trick of your subconscious.

“'M so, so sorry… I had to protect you… I had to protect you”. Bucky explained while closing his eyes, lacing his free fingers with yours. “But, uh… I know you still drink black coffee with mocha and a stick of cinnamon every Thursday. I know you… rent a book from the library and sit on the stairs in your free evenings… I know you sleep with this same shirt every night”.

Discovering he had been watching you all this time provoked your lips to shiver, as your cry became lower and your breathing was calmer. He guarded your days, in the shadows, till the right moment. And it came. Tonight was the right moment.

“I'm free. I'm not an enemy anymore… I'm not a target”. Bucky couldn't help but chuckle to hold back his own tears. “I'm so sorry”.

“Will you…? Will you stay now? With me?” At first, you doubted asking, being afraid of his response for a second.

“No one will ever set us apart again. No one”. He promised you, his heart speaking, telling the absolute truth. “Everything I told you in Bucharest; everything was true. And I… I want it”.

Bucky leaned forward enough inches to make disappear the less distance between both of you, pressing his lips in yours, tenderly caressing your jawline with his thumb as his tears met yours in the corner of your lips. Neither of you could believe that you were reunited after all these years, after all the pain, the loneliness. And like James, your James, said so: no one would ever set you apart again.

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[firehouseonechicago]

Five Times He Almost Kissed You, The One Time He Did || Kelly Severide

Author’s Note: Kelly was super fun to write for. I had one hundred scenarios in my head that I struggled to choose from, but I eventually had to choose one and so here we are. I hope you enjoy, next up is Herrmann. Gif by @baharsahins​

One...

You had only been with Squad 3 for only a few months, and during that time, Kelly had never seen you panic. The two of you might had gotten off on the wrong foot when the two of you first met, but he couldn’t help but admire the way you always kept a level-head during calls, even the very, very stressful ones. You were practically a becon of calming energy, and Kelly couldn’t help but feel a little jealous at the fact that the rest of the squad relied on you to keep them calm and not their own Lieutenant.

But as the two of you became trapped in an apartment complex basement, with a broken water main slowly filling up the incredibly small and cramped space, Kelly watched you break. You pressed yourself as close to the wall as possible, cowering away from the water as it now reached your knees. You were panting frantically, your eyes darting every which way in search of a way out. Kelly called out to you, as you stared down at the water completely petrified. Kelly waded through the water towards you, the water now reaching his waist, and placed his hands on your shoulders and turned you to face him.

“Y/n, look at me!” He shouted, trying to be heard over the rushing water from above. When your eyes met his own, Kelly almost had to do a double take. Your eyes were bloodshot, laden with tears as you descended into a state of pure fear. Kelly tightened his hold on your shoulders “Y/n, focus on me okay? Don’t look at the water, look at me...” He insturcted, as your eyes glazed over with a look of bewilderment “Tell me something that no one else knows about you, something you’ve never told anyone”. He watched as your breathing somewhat steadied, your eyes becoming clearer as you swallowed thickly “I’m scared of drowning”. For a moment, Kelly was confused by your answer before you continued “When I was little my parents owned a lakehouse just a few hours away from the city. I fell in off the wharf and almost drowned, I’ve been terrified of water ever since”.

In that moment, a strange feeling to kiss you surged through Kelly. It was just an idea, to take your mind off of what was happening around you. It was nothing more than that. He didn’t want to see you like this, so scared, and so unlike your usual and bright self. The water had now risen to just below your shoulders, just as the collapsed ceiling above was removed to reveal the concerned faces of Boden, Casey, Herrmann and Mouch. Kelly smiled, turning his gaze back to your form as a relieved sob escaped you. After the two of you had been helped out of the basement, you enveloped Kelly in a tight embrace, whispering a shaky ‘thank you’ over and over again. And he held onto you, assuring you that you were safe.

Two...

Molly’s was very busy that night, and so Kelly kept to himself in one of the booths in the very corner of the room.

There were a lot of faces he didn’t recognise, but there was one that he couldn’t take his eyes off. You stood at the bar, a bright smile on your face as you spoke with Herrmann. Your eyes sparkled, he’d never seen you smile like that before. You just looked so happy. He must have been staring, because he hadn’t noticed that you had suddenly moved into the seat across from him. “Hey, you look a little spaced out. You okay?” You asked quietly, tilting your head to the side in wait for his answer.

Shaking himself from his stupor, Kelly nodded slowly “Yeah I’m good, it’s just been a bit of a rough day that’s all” He replied, his gaze flickering between the half empty beer bottle in his grasp and your form before him. You nodded in agreement, releasing a small hum as you gave him a grin “Tell me about it, the last call wasn’t exactly easy. Especially since we had a run-in with one of the guys we rescued”

Kelly laughed, shaking his head at the memory. There was no explaination as to why he had gotten violent, but he had shoved you quite harshly and pinned you against the side of Truck 81. If Kelly hadn’t stepped in, and hauled that guy away from you with much greater force, the situation would have likely become more complicated. “I wanted to thank you, for what you did today. And I also wanted to say thank you for...for not telling anyone about what happened in that basement a few weeks ago” You whispered shyly, biting your lip somewhat anxiously in embarrassment. Kelly grinned in response, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. After that incident, you and Kelly had gotten closer. He began to confide in you, and talk to you more often. “It’s not my place to tell anybody...” He replied, leaning forward in his seat “but you do have to overcome that fear. If you want to stay on squad you have to-”

“I know, I’m working on it okay? I just...I just can’t...” You trailed off, sighing heavily as your shoulders slumped, your eyes glazing over as memories of the rising water no doubt consumed your mind. That strange feeling surged through him again, that same feeling that made him want to kiss you. He didn’t want to see you like this, completely distant and slightly trembling. It was so unlike you, so far from your usual happy self. And so Kelly leaned over across the table, and gently placed his hand atop yours “How about I help you out, I won’t tell another living soul that you are afraid of water, and I will do whatever I can to help you overcome that fear”.

The smile that appeared on your face caused Kelly’s heart to soar. Your eyes regained their sparkle, and the small laugh that escaped your lips made him feel all the more happier.

Three...

“I’ll have to pass”

“Oh come on Y/n...” Gabby whined, slumping down against the table with a loud groan “just go on one date with this guy please? He seems really into you and I think the two of you would be perfect for each other”. You shook your head, grimacing slightly as you shook your head in response. “I’m really sorry Gabby, but this guy has already sent me a hundred messages which are entirely inappropriate and I just don’t think I should go out with this guy. I know you’re trying to set me up with someone but I just...”

Kelly had tried to stop listening to your conversation hours ago, but he just couldn’t help eavesdropping. He had heard from certain people around the firehouse that Gabby was trying to get you to go on a date with a doctor she had briefly met on one of her trips to the hospital on a call. She had been trying for weeks to get you to go out with him, and every time you had refused. Just the thought of you going out with someone else other than him made Kelly feel incredibly jealous. It was no secret to a few people in the firehouse that Kelly had somehow developed feelings for you, they had suspected a short time after the two of you had been trapped in that flooded basement.

He watched on in silent anger as you once again rejected Gabby’s offer to date some guy she met at Molly’s. What he really wanted to do was to kiss you passionately and to kindly but politely shut Dawson up. You were the only person who seemed to understand him, who was always there for him no matter what tough situation was thrown his way. And so probably against his better judgement, Kelly stood up from his seat and awkwardly approached your table. He stopped short as your eyes quickly moved toward him, a kind smile forming on your face. “Kelly, thank god. How can I help you?” You asked in a slightly exasperated tone, though the joking demenour behind it shone through. His chest suddenly felt tight as a million thoughts raced through his mind. What if you said no? What would he do then? He took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves as he spoke.

“I uh...I was wondering if you would like to um...maybe grab a drink at Molly’s sometime. With me, I was wondering if you would go with me to Molly’s for a-”

“Sure, I’d love to”

Kelly froze, his eyes widening in shock. It took him a moment to comprehend your response, but as soon as he realized that you had said yes, he suddenly felt ecstatic. He nodded excitedly in response, grinning childishly before walking away with a slight skip in his step. His happy demenour made you smile, whilst Gabby just gawked between you and Kelly’s retreating form as she tried to piece together what had just occured.

Four...

“I’m not getting in that pool”

“Why not, the water is lovely. And besides, you promised that you would work on getting over your fear of water”.

You knew that this was a bad idea, you weren’t even sure why you agreed to meet Kelly here in the first place. You hugged your arms close to your frame nervously as you watched Kelly wade through the water, your entire body trembling at the thought of submerging yourself completely beneath the water. Kelly approached the edge of the pool, looking up at you with his signature cheeky yet charming grin. “Come on, just hop in. I’ll be with you every step of the way” He spoke calmly, extending his hand out towards you in sincerity. Stubbournly, you shook your head and backed away from the pool’s edge “No, no way. I’m not getting in there-”

“Y/n if you don’t get over here I will get out and carry you in if I have to” Kelly stated blatantly, half hauling himself out of the pool with a raised eyebrow in emphasis to his words. You glared toward him “Is that a challenge, Severide?”

“That’s a promise, sweetheart”.

The way his voice darkened caused your cheeks to flush a bright pink, but knowing that Kelly would stay true to his word, you reluctantly shuffled over to the edge of the pool and sat down. Kelly grinned triumphantly, submerging himself under the water before resurfacing with a flick of his hair. You rolled your eyes as Kelly chuckled, wading through the water towards you before taking your hands in his own. “I hate you so much” You grumbled, trying so very hard to stop your hands from trembling. Huffing a laugh, Kelly tightened his grip around your hands comfortingly “No you don’t, otherwise you wouldn’t have agreed to go out on that date with me tomorrow night”.

After easing yourself into the water, you practically clung to the man before you as Kelly lead you through the water. Kelly took note of your close proximity, and suddenly found himself becoming increasingly nervous. Your face was just inches away from his own, the temptation to kiss you was becoming way too overwhelming. Yet he composed himself, and focused on the task at hand. It would take some time for you to get over your fear of water, but Kelly was willing to do whatever it took to help you. You were apart of his squad, not to mention the fact that he was deeply in love with you.

Five...

Kelly bounced his leg anxiously as he sat at the bar at Molly’s.

You were due to arrive for your date any second now, and for some unknown reason, Kelly Severide was more nervous than he had ever been in his life. He had never felt this nervous before, not even on call. He really wanted this date to go well.

“Would you calm down already?” Herrmann mused from behind the bar, staring at the man before him with a bewildered expression “I’m sure everything is going to be fine, you just need to take a breath, alright”. Kelly turned to face Herrmann with a long and heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly as he leaned forward against the bar. “I’m sorry. I’m just a little nervous”.

“A little is an understatement my friend...” Herrmann teased, laughing mockingly just as the door to Molly’s opened. Kelly turned, half expecting to see Otis turn up for his shift behind the bar. But he was completely blown away at the sight of you. You wore a short black dress covered in a small red rose pattern, with a black leather jacket over your shoulders. Your hair was swept over your shoulder lazily, unlike at the firehouse when it had been thrown up into a messy ponytail. A cute messy ponytail. When your eyes met his from across the room, you smiled brightly and gave him a small wave as you approached. This was it, this was really happening. God, Kelly didn’t know what to do. You looked so beautiful, the breath was completely knocked out of him.

As you sat down on the seat beside him at the bar, the feeling of wanting to kiss you resurfaced. He was so unbelievably happy that you had agreed to this date, so unbelievably happy that you-

“Hello? Earth to Kelly Severide?” You suddenly interrupted, a teasing tone to your voice as you chuckled at the man before you. Brought back from his stupor, Kelly’s eyes remained frozen on your form. “You look gorgeous” he suddenly blurted, noting the bright redness that spontaniously covered your cheeks. You waved him off dismissively, ordering a light drink from Herrmann as you continued to talk to Kelly. The night was filled with flirtatious banter and the occasional longing glances. It was obvious to anyone that watched that there was obvious chemistry between the two of you, but neither of you cared if people were watching. You were both having fun, and that was all that mattered in that moment.

The one time he did...

“Do you think Shay would mind if I stayed the night? I think I’ve had a bit too much to drink” You mumbled somewhat sheepishly, as you trudged over from the kitchen into the living room where Kelly sat on the couch.

He chuckled, patting the cushion beside him for you to sit down. “Shay is staying over at some girl’s house tonight, so you can stay here as long as you want” He replied, allowing you to cuddle into his side as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder. You hummed in content, snuggling further into him with a small giggle. “Okay good, I wasn’t planning on leaving anyway”.

“Then why ask?” Kelly scoffed, smiling down at you with an amused smile. You rolled your eyes lazily, looking up at him with a cheeky grin “Well I’ve been over enough times, and I haven’t spent the night here yet, so I thought maybe-”

Before you could finish your sentence, Kelly dipped down and captured your lips with his own. The kiss was gentle and passionate. Soft even, almost as if he was testing the waters a little. But as soon as you reached up and wrapped your arms around his neck, that was all Kelly needed as a sign to continue. Moving you into a more comfortable position, Kelly hovered above you as he intensified the kiss, before quickly pulling away from you with a teasing smirk. “What do you say we take this upstairs?” He asled quietly, gesturing with his eyes to the ceiling and his bedroom above. You mimicked his expression, somehow managing to slip out from beneath him with an excited laugh. “Gladly!” You called out, before racing up the staircase ahead of him, and leaving Kelly to chase after you with a loud amused laugh.

[onewithnomightypowers]

Old Habits

pairing: Tom Holland x fem!reader

summary: Old habits come back when you meet an ex lover after a long time. Conversations feel like you never stopped talking to them. Sometimes you have to see them one last time to say goodbye like you mean it but most of the time it doesn’t go as planned.

warning: drinking

words: 2.1k

a/n: could be read as part 2 of last kiss but is a stand alone. got a bit poetic at the end. hope you guys like it. and as always, love reading your opinions/reactions. also asks are open. (gif not mine)

masterlist 

'@tomholland2013 posted a story'

'@tomholland2013 posted a story'

 She picked up her phone to open Instagram. Yes, Y/N still had notifications on for his account even after they were broken up for months. Classic Tom. 

 He posted two of the same picture on his story. No one understood how that would happen almost every time, not even the people working at Instagram to whom they contacted about the glitch.

 Tom had his hair slicked back, standing in a white t-shirt next to Harry, his brother, giving a million-dollar smile. They were holding a clapperboard together. There was text on the picture too, 'day 1 let's go!!' She smiled to herself. Just because they weren't together doesn't mean that she wasn't allowed to feel happy for his achievements. Even though she wishes to know all these big things from Tom himself she is, unfortunately, left here, watching a small part of his life flash in front of her for less than thirty seconds.

 "Are you listening?" Hope, Y/N's date said.

 "Yeah, I'm sorry. You were saying?" Y/N placed the phone back where it was resting, next to the cold wine bottle.

 "You seem distant," they said.

 When she 'met' Hope (she only really met them 30 minutes ago), Y/N wasn't looking for love, just sex, and that is what online dating specializes in. She hoped Hope knew what they were signing up for, sexual intimacy and nothing else.

 "It doesn't matter does, does it? We both know what we are here for. Why not just cut the chase," Y/N replied.

--

It was early in the morning, the sun had yet to shine in its full glory. Y/N could only think of the first time she stayed over at Tom's old apartment but then she turned her head only to find Hope's naked body next to her. Her heartbeat accelerated with the realization that he was not hers anymore. Being in a foreign environment didn't help her growing anxiety, twisting and turning her intestines.

 It's been four months, her feelings for Tom refuse to quit on her because she knows she could never quit on them, on him, even if he has. He probably has already found someone else in Canada, she thought. She didn't want him anymore but she still needed him, one last time just to teach her stupid heart how to say goodbye.

 Y/N wore her clothes and picked up her shoes, going on a trail to find Hope's door to get out before they wake up. Climbing down the stairs, she took out her phone from the back pocket of her jeans.

 '5 new messages from Sam' 7 hours ago

Sam: hey

Sam: ik it's late

Sam: I am going for a run tmr morning @6

Sam: do you wanna come?

Sam: will go to the new coffee house near my house after that

 Y/N texted him back

Y/N: I'll meet you at the coffee place

Sam: come fast. already here

--

Sam and Y/N were standing in the queue to place their orders. “You look especially shitty today,” Sam said, running his right hand through his sweaty hair.

“I haven’t been home yet,” Y/N reasoned her appearance.

 His mouth formed an ‘o’ shape. The person in front of them left the queue, they moved towards the counter. “One hazelnut latte, double shot with skimmed milk,” Y/N gave her order.

 “And you?” the cashier’s question directed to Sam.

 “I’ll have a matcha latte with oat milk”

 Sam turned to Y/N, “Harrison got me on matcha, and now I can’t go back to coffee”

 They paid their dues and moved over to the barista counter to collect their order.

 “So, what were you doing last night?” Sam inquired.

 “I was on a date, it isn't a big deal though. Just had some needs to take care of”

 “Oh, was it any good?”

 “It was fine. I was distracted the whole time. Saw Tom’s story about halfway into the bottle of merlot. Couldn’t stop thinking about him”

 “Seems…sad. But you know Tom is coming back for the Christmas weekend, I think. He might attend Harrison’s Christmas eve party”

 “One hazelnut latte and one matcha latte,” someone behind the counter screamed.

 “That’s us,” Sam raised his voice.

--

Harrison had a bucket inside his house, under a sign that said 'drop your tracking devices here' with an arrow pointing to the bucket. Y/N dropped her phone on a pile of roughly fourteen others. Debating whether to see Tom's face was something she wanted or not made her late and not very fashionably.

 The house was decorated with empty liquor bottles along with red and green streamers from one wall to another. Everyone was drunk in their best dress. There were no signs of Tom yet. Y/N took a deep breath, walking towards the kitchen to get herself some liquid courage to help her socialize.

 The kitchen was rather scarcely populated. Empty glasses were lined up next to the sink. Are they clean or used? Bending down, Y/N opened the refrigerator to see if Harrison had any chilled wine. No luck. "Hey," a familiar voice was heard.

 She looked up at the familiar stranger.

 "Hey Tom," she smiled. The refrigerator light falling on Y/N made her blush visible.

She grabbed a half-cut lemon placed in the egg tray.

 “How have you been?" Tom asked leaning back on the kitchen counter, observing her movements.

 Y/N walked towards the sink to grab herself a crystal glass hoping for it to be clean. "Just busy with work these days"

 "I heard you got a job at Condé Nast, is that true?" he took a sip from his beer.

 "Well, you heard right. You are looking at their new senior brand manager for digital", she said proudly.

 Tom hugged her from the side she was holding a knife to cut the lemon for her gin and tonic. "That's great darling! You always wanted to work there"

 Darling. The butterflies in her stomach were fluttering like the first time she met Tom.

 "I saw your story the other day. You started filming your script, right?" she dropped the lemon in the glass.  

 "Yup, it was a long time coming," he grabbed the knife she was using and washed it without even knowing. He was so used to Y/N never washing utensils after using them and, he would always have to clean up after her.

 "Congrats on that babe!" The word 'babe' just slipped out of practice.

 Y/N grabbed a Bombay Sapphire standing still on the marble slab. The blue of the bottle shinning even in the dim-lit room.

 "I missed you," Y/N made eye contact, screwing the cap back on. A long, silent pause.

 I miss you too, so very much

 She cleared her throat, "so, how long are you staying?"

 "Going back Monday morning"

 She opened a can of tonic water.

 "Are you seeing someone?" Tom asked.

 "Wouldn't you wanna know" a smirk on her face grew. "I've been out on few dates, nothing serious. What about you?"

 "Met this girl online, dated for a bit but, she wanted something I couldn't give to her"

 Y/N scoffed, "did she have a foot fetish or something?"

 "No, Y/N. She wanted love, not my feet" they both laughed.

 "On that topic..." Tom calmed himself, "...I was listening to this song a few weeks ago and, there was this line, 'the smell of your hair reminds me of her feet' and it made me think of you"

 "I reckon," she took a sip of her gin and tonic.

 "No, seriously, I really related to that line. No matter how many people I hook up with, it will be hard to find the type of intimacy I shared with you. I still relate to it"

 "I hate going on walks alone and having faceless dreams," Y/N blurted, lacking a proper reaction.

 "You're still the face of all my fantasies," Tom confessed.

 None of them knew what to say next. Anything they thought of saying now included walking over the blurry line of exes to lovers.

 "You look pretty"

 "Classic me, had a glow up after getting my heartbroken"

 "You always looked this pretty. You are beautiful," Tom assured her. The 'heartbroken part did not sit well with him. He already felt guilty for taking a job across the pond which was a great opportunity for him to grow but was only possible by severing his ties with Y/N.  

 --

It had just started snowing on Boxing Day. Tom was alone in his cold home, boiling a pot of ramen noodles. He took out his phone and snapped a picture of the burning stove with the pot on top.

Tom: *attached photo*

Tom: I come back after months and my family leaves me alone with no food

Y/N: you should add a poached egg

Tom: Thanks. I shall.

Tom: I think I made too much ramen for me

Tom: do you wanna come over and share?

 Her indecision was visible by the coming and going of the gray dots. Then finally, Tom could tame his anxiety by her simple reply.

 Y/N: sure.

--

There was a loud knock on the door. Tom put two bowls of hot ramen on the dining table and went to open the door. Behind the door, Y/N was standing with her hands inside her brown checker coat. There was dust of snow sitting on her shoulders. Her braided hair was made by the most anxious hands in town.

 The door opened and, Tom’s hands flew to take Y/N in his arms. They hugged like little kids hug their parents after being away from each other, for them, an eternity. It did feel like an eternity to them too but, they hadn’t forgotten each other’s touch.

 “I parked my car at the church, couldn’t find any spot here ‘cause of the snow," she pulled out.

 “The snow seems to be gaining momentum.”

 Y/N hummed in agreement. She took off her coat and hung it in the Holland’s coat closet.

 “Come on, the ramen is getting cold,” she followed tom into the kitchen.

 They sat adjacent on the wooden table in comfortable silence. Tom used chopsticks and, Y/N used a fork. Only the occasional noodles falling in the broth were heard, along with the gushing of wind.

 “It’s really spicy for me,” Tom said.

 “Yeah, I can see your ears turning red.”

She still remembers 

 Y/N raised her hand to cover her mouth while yawning.

 “Since you made the food, I’ll do the dishes,” she got up, grabbed their bowls, and walked over to the sink.

 Wearing the gloves, she turned to Tom, “it was quite tasty”.

 Tom gave her a smile.

 She spread the soap on the dishes and turned the tap on. Tom pushed his chair back to get up.

 “Have you made any friends at your new job,” he jumped and sat on the counter next to Y/N.

 “Yeah, sort of. Kyara works there too so, I have just made her friends my friends,” she washed his chopsticks.

 “That’s good. Have you talked to Emily after the wedding? She told me they are planning on adopting.”

 “They invited me over for dinner when they got the approval from the agency. Kyara made this amazing Hyderabadi biryani, it was her mum’s recipe so, it was obviously better than the restaurant”

 “God! You and your love for Indian food”

 Y/N removed her gloves, “I should go. Thanks for the ramen, by the way”

 “Are you sure you can go out in this weather?”

 “Yeah I think," she started walking out of the kitchen.

 Tom grabbed her hand. “Stay”, his voice was like cotton.

 Y/N turned and made contact with his pleading eyes. She moved closer to him. “Please”, he said. They both were inching in to lock their desperate lips.

--

Y/N did not notice when she had fallen asleep talking to Tom. Their naked bodies were covered by the white comforter. Her eyes slowly opened to a boy with brown eyes and messy hair looking at her.

 “I like it when you sleep. I love watching you sleep”

 She chuckled. “That’s a bit creepy, don’t you think?” She had a sleepy voice.

 “You look so serene, the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. I could stare at you for eons”

 “But love, I'm only here till the snow settles,” she caressed his cheeks.

“Then the cold shall frost our limbs," he leaned in to kiss her.

tags: @elios-timotea​

[nincompoopydoo]

LOVE IS STRANGE

PAIRING: Poe Dameron x reader WORD COUNT: 1.9k SUMMARY: The union of Ireca and Mohash may seem a typical cliche of love in comparison to your depressingly lonely state, but when a certain poster boy pilot emerges during the celebration, you wonder if love works in other underlying ways. A/N: I found this in my google docs, first written about a year ago. so, wohoo i present to you my first ever poe dameron content, i think? he's so charming and carelessly beautiful. please leave a comment and tell me what you think or what else you'll like to see from me 💖 gif by @john-seed from this gifst WARNINGS: mentions of alcohol and getting drunk, space swearing. support my writing through ko-fi💖 MASTERLIST

Love is strange. Delicate yet fierce. So forceful that it manages to seep through the cracks created by bombs and gunfire of war. Unexpected at times, appearing out of nowhere. Yet, it’s beautiful because it brings those with beautiful hearts and minds together, entangled in the constant dance of intimacy and devotion.

It’s what Ireca and Mohash have.

Ireca was from the Logistic division, a mechanic herself and your colleague. She was to be married to her long-time lover, Mohash, a flight engineer for the Cobalt Squadron. As far as cliches go, wartime love falls along the lines of a romance cliche. Yet, war was all you’ve known. It’s what everyone has ever known. It’s common to develop some kind of a feeling other than the constant emotions during battle—fondness, the feeling of falling in love with someone. It’s truly what we stay alive for.

Maybe that’s why you hate it so much. The absence of the feeling that everyone describes as so fucking amazing that it completes you. You feel empty most of the time. It’s definitely the reason why you put all your effort into fixing things you can rather than complicated problems and issues that continue to reside in your mind, especially in the wake of midnight.

You find yourself sitting by the makeshift bar, tucked away from the crowd of friends and colleagues. There’s music playing, the sound of drums, and the seven-string hallikset reminds you of your brief visit to Naboo three cycles ago. You’re nursing a warm cup of something that tastes closer to acid water than alcohol.

Ireca emerges from the crowd with flowers in her braided hair. She approaches you with a bright smile and calls out your name wistfully. You shoot a strained smile her way, feeling the bags under your eyes weigh a little more. “What are you doing here all by yourself, huh?” she asks, leaning against the bar with a gentle pat on your shoulder.

“I’m just really tired. Last night was rough. Plus, I’m behind schedule.” you sighed heavily, running your fingers through your hair. She flashed you a smile of sympathy as you continued, “I’m sorry, Ireca. Don’t let me ruin your night. Go, have fun.”

She raises an eyebrow as you take another sip from your cup.

"Go. I'm sure you don't want to miss Mohash's special performance." You gesture to a drunk Mohash, who seemed to be searching for the woman. Ireca merely laughed. "Oh, it sure is going to be special." With a gentle touch to your back and wave, you watch her make her way into the swarm of bodies. You're left alone once again.

You’re still trying to figure out how Mohash even got hold of any sort of alcohol and managed to smuggle it into the base. Someone must have nicked it during one of the previous missions in the Mid Rim.

You rub your eyes, half-awake at this point; your cup is placed beside you as you rest your head against your folded arms on the table. Your mind is in a daze and incapable of irrational thought, deciding it would be best to just camp out here, by the makeshift bar, for the night. You were too tired to drag yourself all the way to your quarters, which felt like miles away, in the first place.

As sleep began to weigh heavy upon your eyelids, you suddenly felt a sharp tap on your shoulder. A soft groan escaped your lips as you shifted your head, still resting on your arms, just enough to peek at your sleep intruder.

It’s Poe Dameron. Commander and Black Leader. Incredibly talented, confident, and effortlessly handsome.

Ugh, you hate this guy.

Yet, you don’t feel so tired anymore.

“Are you drunk?” There’s amusement in his voice with a tinge of mockery. It made you realize the stun you were pulling. Classic Dameron. It was supposed to be a happy ceremony, but it was truly Ireca’s fault for manipulating you into coming tonight. Parties, events, and social gatherings were never right up your alley. You prefer spending time with machinery and your greasy hands.

Poe’s eyes are gleaming under the fluorescent lights, filled with concern, but you spot the smugness in his emerging smile. A flash of a thought, you kind of want to feel his lips on yours. The image immediately stings. You want to gag.

Poe is irritating, arrogant, and careless. Not charming. Nope, definitely not charming.

You straighten yourself, trying to shake off the burning image, shoving it to the back of your head. You lift your head, propping your elbow on the table and resting your chin on the heel of your hand. “You actually think I’ll even touch that bantha shit?”

Tearing your eyes away from Poe, you reach for your cup only to realize it was empty. He casts you a look. Your eyes shoot daggers with an extended pointer finger his way, “Don’t you dare say anything, flyboy.”

Poe raises his palms in defense, lips pursing. “Wasn’t going to.”

You catch a glimmer of mischief in his eyes, one hand discreetly reaching under his tawny leather jacket. Then, a bottle of Corellian whiskey emerges, shining under the lights of the Resistance hangar. Your face lights up at the recognition of the bottle, memories of your rare trips to Corellia, sharing whiskey drinks with your colleagues. It was the only planet you’d been to ever since you joined the Resistance.

You’ve only tasted Corellian whiskey once because of how expensive it is. You’ll happily get drunk to that in a heartbeat. Drink the worry and sorrow away with the lingering taste of frankly exorbitant whiskey.

Like a child with grabby hands, you reach for the bottle, but as your fingers brush his, Poe quickly lifts it to the air and away from you. He smacks your hand away. You whine, feeling a little lightheaded. The contents of the mysterious drink are starting to kick in.

What the blinkin' mradhe muck was in that drink?

“What do you want from me? It’s not like I have a drinking problem.”

He’s giving you that look like he’s judging you, but with a hint of amusement at the slight tug of the corner of his mouth. “You definitely have a drinking problem, but... i'll let you drink this on one condition.”

“For kriff’s sake,” you mutter, rolling your eyes, glancing away. “I’m not doing any weird wacky favors for you, Dameron.”

He scoffs, expression bewildered. “Hey, I don’t ask for weird wacky favors,” He articulates his words with a defensive tone, index finger stretched to your face. You simply smack it away as Poe clicks his tongue and continues to clarify his proposition. “All I’m asking is for you to fix my ship.”

Your wide-eyed gaze flies to him, shaking your head furiously. “Oh, no, no. No. Never in a million cycles. Never in a million millennials. Nuh-uh—”

“Hey, quit being dramatic. It’s a simple job.”

Your eyes grow even wider, voice raising. “A simple job? You fly that ship of yours like we have hundreds of spare ones. I’m not putting all my time and effort into fixing a lost cause.”

“But you haven’t even—”

“No. I’m not fixing your ship, and that’s final.”

Poe blinks and you’re back to fussing over your empty cup. The chatter of the crowd grows louder as a group of pilots of the Cobalt Squadron began rendering verses of an unknown traditional drinking song to your ears. You steal a look to only find Ireca and Mohash amidst a dance, tangled in each other's arms.

He eyes closely, noticing the turn of your lips, trained eyes deem melancholy. He knows the face of a loner very well—usually recruits with lost family and homes. They enlist in a mass community of freedom fighters for the restoration of good in the universe, and to finally feel a sense of familiarity and belonging. He doesn’t know much about you but he knows you don’t truly have anyone to depend on but yourself. It’s the reason why you’re constantly fierce.

Poe clears his throat, shifting closer to you as he watches the way you carry your gradual gaze to hold his. They then flit to the space between the two of you, raised eyebrows acknowledging the weird close proximity of his presence to yours.

“Look, you’re the best mechanic there ever was and probably ever will be. So, fix my ship, and you get to have this Corellian beauty. All of it.” He sways the bottle in the air, but you don’t look at it.

“You know, that’s bribery.”

“Yes, and it’s working.”

You scoff. “No, it isn’t.”

Poe laughs. “Yes, it is. I can see it in your eyes.”

Another scoff, you look fully aggravated. “How dense do you think I am?”

“Oh, very, but let’s not get into that.”

Bickering was the only language the two of you spoke fluently when you found yourselves tangled in a conversation with one another. Thrown insults were spoken lies—saying you hate each other when you know that isn’t true. Well, at least you don’t mean it and you hoped Poe didn’t either.

You’re exhausted, physically and mentally. For once, kindness and acceptance seem to be the easiest route.

A sigh passes your lips as you blink up to the ceiling, sending a silent prayer for blessings from the Maker above. “You’re right. I am dense. Truly dense. So, yeah. Okay. I’ll fix that stupid X-Wing of yours.”

Poe blinks, dumbfounded. “Wait, really?”

With a roll of your eyes, they meet his very own wide ones. “Yes, really. Only because you complimented me. Now, hand me that Corellian whiskey before I change my mind.”

He then makes a sound that resonates between a cough and a pleasantly surprised laugh, eyes crinkling with delight. Poe happily and absentmindedly passes the whiskey to you, still reacting like your agreement is some sort of object of ridicule in the best way possible.

“Wow—Maker, you have no idea what kind of trouble you’re saving me from. If the General ever found out—man, pfft. Thank you. Thank you so much—”

A swift and unexpected motion, he is reaching you, palms clasp and either side of your face, and plants a quick peck on the side of your left temple.

Poe isn’t thinking straight.

There you are, mid-swig, lips so close to the rim of the bottle with eyes so wide. You steal a steady glance at the pilot whose expression seems to reflect yours. His hands are still on your cheeks. He’s unbelievably close to you and he’s staring with that stupid look of his.

‘Maker, preserve me.’

A cheer erupts from the crowd from across the space and just like that, the moment is gone. Whatever the moment even was. His touch is no longer on yours and his gaze shifting away.

The tension, however, is still very present.

You finally take a swig of the whiskey, wanting to ease the sudden tightness in your chest. You hum at the stinging sensation on your tongue. You catch a glimpse of Poe from the corner of your eye who busies himself with tapping his fingers nervously against the surface of the bar.

Then, in an awkward motion, you stretch your arm to him, offering the drink.

A beat. His gaze shifts between you and your hand. When he finally gives in, a smile curves upon his lips, fingers brushing against yours. They’re delicate and you smile at him. It's small, but it makes his heart skip a beat and you wonder to yourself about the strangeness of love.