flower let me love you down

I will spend every 
breakfast with you. 
I will kiss your cheeks 
in the morning when
you are too tired to go to work. 
I will put my hair into 
a bun and I will carry my heavy body
for you. 
I will put my little heart 
in a bowl with rice milk. I will 
make you a cup of Turkish tea, and
I will listen to your eyes. 
I will wait for you 
with all my beauty. I will 
make your house a harem of love. 
I will be so exquisite 
you won’t desire any other woman. 
And I will let my love pour for you like a cascade. 
I will fold your clothes
and leave you love notes on the fridge. 
I will grow flowers under your bed. 
I will soak myself in honey for you, 
and I will let my hair fall down for you 
when you call on me. 
I will love you in anger. 
I will kiss you when you least deserve it.
I will look for your father in your eyes, 
and I will ask for your mother on how to make you happy. 
When I will upset you, 
remember my little heart next to yours. 
I will pronounce your name in Arabic,
and you will forgive my sinless eyes. 
And I will fall in love with you again.
—  Marriage Legacies by Royla Asghar 
Cheating - Reggie Mantle

SOOOOOO guess who does Riverdale stuff now. Me. Because when I get a new fandom, it’s all I think about for like two weeks.

Originally posted by rcggiemantle

In which the reader has the locker next to Archie, her best friend since kindergarten.

Words: 871

Warnings: None

Keep reading

And my god, I hope you wake up one morning to someone who loves you like you’re a sunflower and they’re desperate to keep you alive.
I hope you dance with them in the small space of your kitchen floor, messy hair and tired eyes because you both been up all night watching movies again.
I hope you laugh with them in a way you never did with anyone else, head tilted back and lips apart as you let out every sound your laugh can possibly make and I hope to god you don’t try to cover your mouth. And if you do, because that’s okay, I know I sometimes do, I hope they stop you.
I hope they grab your hand before it ever comes in contact with your lips and I hope they hold it to their chest as they watch you with kind loving eyes. Because fuck, everyone knows you deserve it. And I hope you find someone who’ll accept you.
I hope they accept your messy hair in the early morning of the day and I hope they accept the way you sometimes talk too much and can’t seem to stop when you’re nervous or how you still cry yourself to sleep on some nights.
I hope they hold you and kiss you on the places where you’re most insecure at and I hope to god you let them.
I hope you find someone who makes you happy, even when you feel like sometimes, life is too hard for you. And I hope that when you both come across a tough situation and it comes down to a choice where you are one of them,
I hope they choose you. Every goddamn time, I hope they choose you.
—  A.M//for you
#DateMeBuckyBarnes (Part 10)

Summary: When Hollywood’s heartthrob Bucky Barnes breaks up with his girlfriend, you jokingly tag him in a selfie on Instagram to express your desire to date him. What you don’t expect is a response from the man himself [Modern AU].

Word Count: 1,261

‘#DateMeBuckyBarnes’ Masterlist

A/N: Hope you guys like the update! 

Originally posted by winter-barnes

You stared at Bucky in fascination as he said those words to you, wondering how he could possibly ‘step up his game’ after this. He certainly pulled out all the stops for this so-called friend date, reserving the entire restaurant just so the both of you could admire the breathtaking rooftop view of the city over dinner alone. What more could he do to excel this grand gesture?

“You know,” you started, breaking your silence as Bucky’s gaze fixated on you, “I’m not sure how you’re gonna top this. I mean…any more grand gestures, this outing is gonna qualify as an actual date.”

Keep reading

You, in your white t-shirt,
your elegant smile, 
and your deep dimples,
and your brown eyes,
hotter than the sun.
My summer paradise is really made of all 
these things. 
Your tan skin, 
and childish angels, 
wet kisses and watermelon baths. 
My summer paradise is you running 
after me in a field of white flowers,
under the azul sky
and butterflies in my belly. 
Your playful hands and the French music 
in your car, driving all over the city.
You say; mon ami
all eyes on me.
And you are my summer paradise. 
Pink sunglasses and diamond rings, 
we re-new our I love you’s and 
I let my hair grow long for you. 
Kisses on my cheek from kids,
and picking flowers for you.
I promise I will become your summer paradise.
You love me in a sweatshirt 
when my eyes are full of soft rain.
You buy me chocolate
and walk me down the beach at sunset. 
You collect the prettiest rocks for me, 
and you are my best friend. 
My summer paradise is writing you 
love letters. 
Your small prayers, you say
when my head is on your chest. 
God have put all the paradises and all the summers in you, my darling.
—  Summertime Paradise by Royla Asghar 
Picking Daisies, Picking People

Pairing: Daniel Howell & AmazingPhil (Phan)

Genre: Fluff, Pastel!Dan/Punk!Phil

Word Count: 1100

Summary: Dan has an obsessions with flowers. Phil can’t understand it. And so, Dan plans to explain in only the best way possible. 

Author Note: Shoutout to @pantsudan for the incredibly sweet prompt

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

can you do a fic or imagine where josh is late to someone's funeral (like a family member or something) and realizes he wants to bring flowers so on his way he steals some from the readers garden!!! fluff if you can :) love you tay xoxo


Warnings: death mention, poor sappy sad josh. 

Note: I’m so sorry that I take so long to update and write. I’ve been in a bad place lately, but I’m trying to pull out of it. You guys are the best, thanks for sticking with me through all this stuff and being so supportive!! honestly idek what this is, I wrote this half asleep all while eating an unhealthy amount of pasta, so please excuse the inevitable typos that you will find. But anyway here’s a kinda sad, kinda fluffy mess of a fic. 

Josh is late. In every sense of the word, he is so late. He’s even still in his work uniform, grey polo shirt scratching uncomfortably under his rain jacket. His hands are freezing and he doesn’t even have any flowers. Ashley is going to be so mad.

He’s power walking, well aware he probably looks like a mom tracking down six kids in a crowded mall (thinking of that makes his heart clench in his chest). There’s one more street to walk down–he refuses to drive there, it makes it feel too real. He stuffs shaking hands in his pockets and turns the corner.

Josh doesn’t have flowers. He’s visiting for the first time since it happened, he’s late, and he doesn’t have flowers.

He’s a block away when he sees them, the roses growing almost chaotically over a small light pink fence. He stops and looks down at them, then around. No one’s watching, so he crouches and picks a decent handful, murmuring a few sorries as the stems snap. He notes the house number and reminds himself to write a thank you note before standing up and continuing on his way.

Everyone’s already there when Josh arrives, eyes watery from the wind. Ashley gives him a look that would’ve been terrifying if not for the red around her eyes, and Josh mouths his apology while passing out hugs.

With a deep breath he crouches and places the six roses at the base of the polished stone. “Hi, mum.” Josh whispers, pressing a kiss into his hand and then to her name. “Sorry I’m late.”

I miss you. I stole these flowers for you, the old lady they belong to probably noticed already. My boss gave me a few extra sick days because she knows. I’m tired of everyone knowing. I love you.

It happens seven times in the course of two months, and Josh really doesn’t mean to make it a habit, but he can never seem to remember the flowers until he’s well on his way, and there are so many of them in the garden that he hardly feels bad. He never got around to writing the note.

He’s sitting in front of the grave with a bunch of daisies. “The girls miss you.” Josh says quietly, arranging the flowers nicely along the stone. The white is almost too bright to look at. “We all miss you, mum.” He whispers, feeling a tear run down his cheek. “Today at work a girl brought in her therapy dog. She was behind the counter with me and her dog—I can’t remember it’s name, but it spent the whole time licking my shoe. Reckon he knows, too? Anyway, it was nice. Maybe I should get a dog.”

Josh never means to cry but he always ends up doing it. It takes about twenty minutes for him to be able to breathe again, then he says goodbye and walks the three blocks to his car.

He usually visits once a week, sometimes one of his sisters comes with him. If it’s Abigail, they go get ice cream after. If it’s Ashley, which it usually is, they get coffee and don’t talk about it.

It’s running on month six when Josh sees her. He’s holding a beautiful bunch of chrysanthemums by his side, when he notices that there’s someone in the window holding the curtain aside. They make eye contact, and Josh feels very guilty. She doesn’t look angry, although there’s a noticeable furrow between her eyebrows. She’s wearing a cotton bathrobe and holding a mug of coffee. Josh could use some coffee.

He doesn’t know what to do, so he just smiles and holds up the flowers. Then turns on his heels and walks as quickly as he can.

“It’s not an old lady, mum, it’s a girl. She saw me today, caught me red handed.” Josh mumbles, laughing a bit to himself as he clears away some old flowers and places the new ones. “She didn’t do anything though, so I think I’m okay.” His voice cracks as he says it, and then, as usual, starts crying.

It takes two more times for the rightful owner of the flowers to confront Josh about his thievery.

Josh’s on his knees, picking some cute purple flowers when he hears her voice.

“Um, hello?” Josh nearly jumps out of his skin.

“Oh shit.” Josh says, looking up and feeling his heart sink. “Right. I’m sorry I just–your flowers are very nice.”

She smiles and crosses her hands over her chest. “Thank you.”

Josh’s still kneeling, hands shaking where they’re holding stems. She has long, dark hair and a sort of crooked smile on her face. Neither of them are saying anything. She’s wearing an old shirt with a hole near the hem. Josh’s hands are sweating.

“You know, if you’re going to steal my flowers to take to your girl, I think I’m going to have to come with you to make sure she’s beautiful enough to warrant theft.” She says, oddly calm and good natured.

Josh doesn’t know what to say. He just nods, trying to ease the panic rising in his chest.

“Add a few roses.” She orders, and Josh nods, picking a few and standing up, finally. “I’m Y/N, by the way.“ She says, extending a hand.

Josh smiles and shakes it. “Josh.” She smiles at him one more time and then they start to walk.

She pesters him with questions about his imaginary girlfriend, and Josh tries to answer them in the vaguest way possible, all the while trying to figure out how the hell he’s going to explain this when they get to the cemetery.

“Did she like the daisies you picked last time? I always thought those were more of a flower you give your mum, but I guess they’re nice.” she babbles, and Josh almost chokes.

“Yeah, um. Yeah.” he says, his heart racing in his chest. The small side entrance is only a few meters away, and she still has no idea. Josh doesn’t say anything as he walks through the gate, holding it open for her, who immediately stops talking as well.

The silence feels like a heavy blanket, and she just follows Josh as he makes the walk now committed to memory. Josh almost forgets she’s there, dropping to the probably permanently grass stained knees of his jeans and managing a smile. “Hi mum.” He places the flowers around the base of the stone, like he always does. Josh jolts when he feels a hand on his thigh, near his knee. He follows the arm up and meets her green eyes. Josh hadn’t noticed her kneel, too.

“Josh…” she whispers, obviously surprised. Josh doesn’t blame her.

“Don’t.” he says quietly, sniffling and looking away from him. “I brought someone with me. She’s the one I’ve been stealing all the flowers from.” Josh says, smiling a bit and he hears Y/N mumble a soft hello. “She hasn’t called the cops on me yet, which I guess is good.”

He takes a shaky breath before getting choked up. He puts his face in his hands and this was always just a part of his agenda, but the arm around his shoulders is new.

She starts talking.

“The first time I was sitting in my kitchen and I was like oh god do not pick the hibiscuses, they’ve got bees. But he didn’t, he chose some tulips instead.“ she laughs a little, and Josh almost starts crying again. “Between us, I hope he never stops.” she whispers, and Josh knows he wasn’t meant to hear it. There’s a lot he wasn’t meant to do.

Josh sniffles loudly and sits up to wipe his eyes. Her arm is still around his shoulders. “I’m sorry.” he says out of habit, as he’s been doing every time anyone’s seen him cry since October. She just shakes her head and uses a thumb to wipe a stray tear.

“Don’t apologize.” She says, and puts her hand back on her own lap. Josh wants to tell her to put it back. “I’ll um, give you some privacy.” She says, standing up and brushing her jeans off. “And, Josh, you’re welcome to my flowers anytime.” She says, giving him a bright smile before walking away.

Josh doesn’t watch her walk away. He turns back to the gravestone and sighs. “She’s kinda nice isn’t she mum?”

Josh can almost hear his mum yelling at him. Don’t be stupid, dear, go after her.

He kisses his hand and presses it agains the warming stone. “I love you.” He gets up, not bothering to dust off his knees and all but sprints back out to the sidewalk. Josh jogs down the road and turns the corner, smiling when he sees her walking peacefully down the street.

“Hey!” Josh yells, picking up to a run. She turns, and stops walking, looking surprised that Josh is running after her.  

“Let me, um, buy you lunch.” he says breathlessly.  “Figure I owe you one, since I’ve been stealing your flowers for months.“

She smiles and nods.  “Yeah, I guess that’a fair payback.”

They talk as they walk to her pick of café, and Josh feels lighter than he has in months.

They walk back to Y/N’s, and she makes Josh promise to close his eyes as she grabs the spare key. It’s painfully adorable.

“Wanna, um come in?” she asks, looking down at her feet as she says it. Josh’s cheeks go hot at that, being suddenly floored by how pretty she really is.

“I-” Josh starts, before checking his watch,. “Really need to be heading home.” He tries not to let the way her face falls hurt his feelings too bad. “I have work in like, an hour, so.” he explains, and she nods.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. Maybe another time.” she says, eyes wide and hopeful.

Josh grins. "Definitely. I’ll call you–or you’ll see me in your garden, either one.” He throws in a wink and leans in to peck her cheek before turning and walking down the street to his car.  At the corner he turns and finds Y/N still standing in her doorway.

It was not a good day. Josh has been avoiding sleep because every time he closes his eyes at night,  he can’t stop picturing the time he showed his mum how he could climb the tree in the backyard. He fell on the second branch and skinned his shin and elbow. She patched him up and bought him ice cream, and then they watched movies until Josh fell asleep against her on the couch.

He sighs and presses the heels of his palms into his eyes. He’d stopped crying about an hour ago, now he’s just staring at his ceiling with his eyes burning. It’s four thirty. Sleep is definitely out of the picture, so Josh grabs his keys and does the only thing he can think of.

He picks seven roses on his way, hops the fence, and finds he can still cry, forehead pressed against cold stone.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there for, but when he opens his eyes, the sky is more grey than black. “Fuck.” He curses and rubs at his stinging eyes. “Sorry for swearing,” He whispers, laughing a bit. “I’ll be back soon, I love you.”

He stands.  It’s about to be five in the morning, and Josh really can’t see himself driving all the way back home. He doesn’t quite know what to do as he walks back, but then he sees the garden, and finds himself knocking on the door.

It takes a few, but Y/N does open the door, hair a mess, grey sweats hanging low on her hips. “Josh,” She says, surprised. “What are you doing here babe?” she asks softly.

“Couldn’t sleep. Needed some flowers.” he mumbles, blinking a few times to try and get rid of the blurriness creeping across his eyes. “Can I come in?”

“Yes, of course.” she says without missing a beat, and Josh sighs, relieved. He toes off his sneakers at the door and lets Y/N lead him through the house.  He can tell that Y/N wants to ask, but doesn’t.

In fact, she doesn’t say anything, and Josh finds that oddly comforting, she just sits next to Josh on the couch and keeps her hands curled in her lap.  

“I took some roses again this morning,” Josh admits.

“What color?” is all she responds with.

“The white.”

“That’s the best kind,” she assures him. You can keep helping yourself to those.” she says, leaning over and poking into Josh’s side. “Think of it as my gift to your mum, too.”

That makes Josh tear up a bit.

“I should go,” he says, not wanting to start crying in front of her for a second time.  

“Oh,” she says, sounding almost disappointed.  “Right— okay.”

Josh stands up, his chest feeling tight and his thoughts racing.  But in the midst of the chaos, he hears her voice.  Clear as day; the reason behind his messy, illogical mind. Don’t be stupid, dear, go after her.

Josh turns suddenly then, and takes a step closer to Y/N, so he can hold her hands in his own. “Can I take you to breakfast right now?”

She beams at him, dimples drilled into her cheeks as she nods in agreement. She hurriedly finds shoes and a jacket, stopping at the door to lock the door before following Josh out. They walk to his car hand in hand, and it all feels so right.

They get pancakes, and Josh kisses the whip cream off her lips. People give them looks as they laugh obnoxiously and fond over one another. Josh doesn’t care.

He wakes up the next morning in a bed that isn’t his own and to the smell of bacon. He smiles to himself. “Are you ever going to let me make you breakfast?” he asks, laughing a little when he sees Y/N standing in front of the stove.

“Maybe, if you ever wake up before me.” she says, looking over her shoulder and smiling at Josh.

They sit down to eat breakfast on Y/N‘s couch, blanket pulled over both of them, and it’s home.

There is a thousand worlds where I wasn’t born, but I am still here and it’s really not my parents’ fault they only give life, what you do with it is ultimately up to you. I guess I’ve changed a lot since way back when I didn’t know a damn thing. I used to have a lot of friends, where are you? I guess we’ve grown apart a few oceans too deep to recognize youth that has faded. There’s too much pain inside of us, where do those tears truly come from? A place that I can’t see, rip it out from me, take the rain away from these clouds and let the sky fall down twice, let my body hit the ground with the force of flowers and spring– let my soul grow into the vines that’ll wrap us from skin to bone, let my words be the last thought you have tonight. I had to overdose to learn a bit about self-control. I had to break into pieces to learn that the kind of love I need first is that kind of love that I can’t give to others. So when she looks me dead in the eyes and tells me that she loves me– I don’t know how to say that I love her back, the truth is I’m all out of that. That? That is the words I can’t repeat. That is the heart that doesn’t belong to you nor does it belong to me. That is a place that I’ve lost and I’ve been fighting to get back home– when you’ve been alone for this long, even darkness starts to make sense, I’ve got friends, sure– but if you can’t even face yourself in the mirror and the night echoes much more loudly than your own silence after a whole pack of cigarettes and your breathing is heavy and heaving, which parts of you are left bleeding when you’re all out of love? That love I cannot give to you turns into a million apologies to match each of your stomach butterflies, I know that you might really love me and that’s why I’ve been distant. I know that you might be attached and that’s why I haven’t been texting back and it’s not that I don’t have feelings for you, but these things happen and love messes things up, we had it made with our letters and stars, which part of this do I belong in? Do you only love me because I’m here? Or do you love me for me? That’s the thing, how can you love me for me if I don’t even know who I am. I am not the person that you see. There’s got to be more. There’s got to be more. More than this. This? This is the time when I should’ve walked away, but I hung onto your words. This is the time when I should’ve let the hurt sink in, the titanic sinks twice when it hears our story. Do you love me or do you love the idea of me? Is it because of the flowers and the poetry? I could do without them, can you? I’m a sucker for words and a good story, I guess I’m fucked and you are too. There is a thousand places that I’d rather be and sadly enough, my favorite will be always be the constant searching for an inner happiness that I can’t seem to find. Pills won’t fix the emptiness you feel on your bed. Drugs won’t collapse the holes you’ve got inside of your heart. Boozes won’t numb away the memory when you’re sober enough to realize that you’re still a mess. Love, love– yours, yours. I always leave my letters like that, don’t I? You want to know my favorite words from you? When you said that no matter what happens, you’ll always remember me as the boy who bought you flowers just to see you smile. Those words sing a song that I’ll hum to until I’m old and grey. In these moments, we are the only people that matter even if it doesn’t last. I can’t be the future that you want, I can’t be the person you hold at night and the truth is– my mind has been made up since last week, I’m just finding the right words to tell you, I can’t keep giving pieces of myself away and expect to feel full, I can’t say that I love myself if I run around choosing to love someone else once again and maybe I am a coward for not trying to fall back in love, but love can’t fix the tattered bits of me. They say that soulmates don’t have expirations, you’ll know them when you see them. Maybe I’m the one that tells you that you don’t need someone to tell you that you’re pretty. Maybe I’m the one that tells you that you’re more than what the world has turned you into. Maybe I’m the one that tells you that I’m not the one. I’m not. There’s not enough of me to go around this year, I guess I’m just another one of those broken dreams that’ll keep the stoner up at night.
—  That and this kind of love just isn’t for me.

I romanticize everything,
through rosy neon eyes.
I am the soft blush of spring,
(so tender in it’s youth.)

You are so harsh,
in your half truths chased by swigs of whiskey.
(We grow out of our lies, but they still wear us like a second skin.)

Do you love the burn or have you grown so accustomed that  you know nothing else?
(or do you not want to?)

Give me your calloused hands love,
and I’ll give you my innocent supple flesh.
Take it all, I don’t want it anymore.
(If I can’t have you darling)

In the morning,
let me wash down your vodka kisses with coffee.
I’ll soothe your fevered looks as,
your cigarette hands burn me.
(I’ll be your ashtray forever more)

I am the water that puts out your flame.
The shore that accepts your hard raging waves,
and the tsunami you ensue.
(drown me out)

I am the flowers your wind rustles,
the valley that catches your currents.
(carry me away)

I am the mountain buried under your snow.
the volcano that remains intact under your lava flows.
(burn me up)

I was here long before you,
and will be here long after.
(I long for your hand to hold).

I wish you would stay,
for who else will soothe your rage?
(I yearn for it, your heady touch)

—  What is a goddess to a boy so drunk on his own mortality? (blind to love, I fold in prayer)
Warm Me Up Ch. 31

THANK YOU FOR FOLLOWING @tiny-angry-demigods !!! Please, keep following! Good job, you’ve unlocked the chapter :)

Click Here for Ch. 1

Click Here for Ch. 30


He couldn’t stop pacing.  His psychiatrist kept her eyes steady on him, following him and waiting patiently for him to speak. Finally, he turned to her and sighed. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I… I’m terrified. I shouldn’t be terrified.” He crossed his arms and groaned. “I can’t stop shaking. I thought this was supposed to stop.”

His psychiatrist hummed and checked her board. “You’ve been taking Zoloft for… two months, right?” Nico nodded. “Like I said, we have to move up slowly. It’s not regulating you yet, so I’m going to go ahead and increase the dose, okay?” Nico grit his teeth as she scribbled on a clipboard. Then she looked up and smiled. “Now, about this date. Was he nervous when he asked?” Nico shrugged and nodded. “Do you think he might feel just as scared as you at this point?”

“No,” he said immediately. “Will… he’s so put together. He’s stronger. Maybe he’s nervous but… I’m so scared, I get nauseous. And I don’t know why.”

She leaned forward and interlocked her hands, her eyes never leaving Nico’s. It was slightly disturbing the way she would look him in the eyes so consistently when Nico could barely hold her gaze for more than five seconds. “You mentioned before that the reason you stayed friends was because he said he couldn’t trust you. Right?” Nico nodded. “Do you trust yourself?”

Keep reading

COMPANY || one.

◦ pairing: reader x hyungsik

◦ rating: m

◦ word count: 1.2k

◦ a/n: We’re jumping right on into the smut, my loves xD Here’s the first installment of COMPANY (CEO!Hyungsik) for all you Hyungsik fans

playlist | one | two | three | four | five |

m a s t e r l i s t

“Did you really think you were hired just to schedule my appointments and take notes during meetings?” Somehow his words floated through my mind every time I ended up like this: my head spinning, a certain numbness humming violently through my body. My fingers clung uselessly to the fabric of his shirt. His fingers dug into my hips as he pulled me up, flowering bruises against my flesh for me to find hours from now. In one swift motion, he slammed me back down against his length. “S-sir,” I stuttered, and he loved that. He let out a moan into the skin of my shoulder, my blouse slinking down my arm. I must have been one hell of a sight. How did I get here? I wondered. To think I stepped into this office a year ago with the expectation of getting some valuable experience seemed like a joke now.

“You’re my personal assistant, and I’m going to need…company, from time to time.” He had paused with a smirk painted across his lips, undoubtedly studying my wide eyes and stiff stance. “Of course, I can always hire someone else.”

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Let's play "Hot or Not: TV Edition" - KJ Apa, Matt Lanter, Donald Glover, Jensen Ackles, Tyler Posey, Cody Christian, Rami Malek, John Cho, Grant Gustin. Feel free to get into specifics. #youasked

1.  KJ Apa

IDK who KJ Apa is.

Originally posted by songsoftheheartless

Oh.  I mean.  He is a hot in the most generic white-boy way possible.  Unless he were shirtless, I probably wouldn’t give him a second look on the street.


2.  Matt Lanter


Originally posted by uuuhshiny

Oh. I mean. He’s slightly less generic white boy than KJ Apa, and I’d definitely stare at him too much while waiting for my latte at Starbucks, but then never give him a second thought once I left.


3.  Donald Glover

Originally posted by not-ur-ghoul

In the list of men that you send me, he isn’t at the top but he isn’t at the bottom.  When he’s a bit scruffy like this?  Absolutely.


4.  Jensen Ackles

Originally posted by holy-fucking-damn-shit

I have had some INCREDIBLY obscene thoughts about this man’s mouth, GOOD LORDT.


5. Tyler Posey

First, I tried to gif search “Tyler Posey” but 95% of the results were Dylan O’Brien which, like, kI”m a fan too, but GODDAMMIT I’M LOOKING FOR TYLER POSEY

holy shit sop fucking hot like JESUS CHRIST if you’d told me I’d walk away from Teen Wolf most wanting to bone Tyler Posey I’d be like “ok he’s cute but wtf” but 43 years later (that’s how long Teen Wolf has been on, right, like God it feel like AGES) i’m in.  i’m down.  he’s gotten to the point where he looks juuuuuuust sleazy enough for me to hate how much i love it where “it” means “sex”.  also, i feel like he’s probably let a dude s the d before, and probably would again


6.  Cody Christian

Originally posted by beyourownperson

That, sir, is a lie, because you look like your version of “freak” is “lighting a sage-scented candle instead of a french vanilla one” like godDAMN.  If you were a spice, you’d be flower (trademark Louise Belcher).


7.  Rami Malek

Originally posted by despairingfever

his name is Rami, which is also what i want him to do to me


8.  John Cho

Originally posted by testmeyouwillfail



9.  Grant Gustin

Originally posted by dailygrantgustin

I was gonna say “he’s probably in the lower half of this list” but then i found this gif, and it made me think that sex with him would be surprisingly intense where, like, we start at precisely 2:37 p.m. on a lazy Saturday afternoon and by 9:33 p.m., we would be finished role-playing the journey that Frodo and Sam took to Mordor, but in a sex metaphor way

1st Win | Hoseok | (M)

word count: 3.7k

genre: smut + fluff; idol-verse + established relationship

pairing: reader/hoseok

summary: monsta x has just had their first ever win on a music show, and you’re too happy to celebrate that achievement with your boyfriend, who’s a part of said group.


Keep reading

Fearful Love Part 8

Jared Padalecki x Reader

Word Count: 1,510

Warnings: language, diagnosis of PTSD, panic attack 

Summary: After leaving the convention Jared takes you to get you some help. Finally the feelings the two of you have for each other are revealed but how long is that happiness able to last?

A/N: Whoa!! Two fics out in one day!!!! Lmao I surprised myself and I know a lot of you have been waiting for this moment for a long time so here it is!!! I hope you all enjoy this!!! Unbeta’d so all mistakes are mine and feedback is greatly appreciated!!!

Fearful Love Masterlist

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Could a possibly request a minific from that reblog? If so, could I have gramander and a subtle kindness please. Thank you! P.s. I really love all of your writing, it's just stunning. Like wow. And I hope you're having a beautiful day. Xx


Side note, I write weirdly when I’m sick sooooo sorry if it doesn’t make sense. I shall try my best! :D (proceeds to fail).

All the nurses were in love, it would appear; and it seemed to Newt that they were all in love with the same man. He had only been working at the hospital for about a week when he started noticing it - the way the nurses would light up around 8:30AM every morning on the dot. 

He saw the way they congregated in the hall to look through the door’s little window and spot him. Only Queenie seemed unaffected by the man; kind as ever as Newt watched her take a bouquet of flowers from the man and wish him a good day.

So one day, he decided to corner Queenie about it.

“What is with that bloke with the flowers that’s got every woman’s knickers all in a bunch?” Newt asked, startling Queenie from her work.

“Oh, you mean Mr. Graves?” Queenie said, her normally bright face instantly lighting up. “Of course everyone’s in love with him, he’s such a sweetheart. And quite a looker too, if you don’t mind me saying.”

She winked.

“But why, Queenie?” Newt asked, hefting himself to sit atop her desk. 

“You don’t know?” She asked with a bland little blink, then smiled - something strange behind her eyes. “You know what, you should meet him. He always stops by at 8:30, right here.”

“I don’t see why,” Newt grumbled, suddenly uneasy about meeting this stranger. “Seems silly. He’s just some bloke, right?”

Queenie stood to straighten Newt’s scrubs before shooing him off her desk. 

“Tomorrow, 8:30AM. Don’t forget,” is all she said. 

That night, he tells himself it’s foolish. No, he won’t go to the front desk to meet a total stranger. That’s just dumb…

And yet, there he was - sitting innocently on Queenie’s desk - waiting for a “coincidental” meeting with the man that had the hospital in an uproar. From the door, he had never quite gotten a good look at the man before. So nothing could prepare him for the moment that Queenie suddenly hushed his conversation and nodded at the front door of the hospital.

He was… he was perfect. Tan skin tucked away beneath a stark white button down and a tight black vest. The faintest wisp of chest hair peeking out from the top two undone buttons, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, forearms covered in slick black ink. Simple, flattering black trousers and crisp black boots. Hair pressed back, with just a few rebellious strands tickling his brows. Coffee black eyes, warm in the center like a dollop of cream. 

The man smiled at Queenie, then caught sight of him and blinked - curious, but not perturbed. And when he finally reached the desk, Newt felt his stomach drop at the creamy rich Irish lit of his voice. 

“How’s my girl doing today?” The man purred, and Queenie giggled.

“Right as rain, as always, Mr. Graves,” Queenie said as she stood. “Have you met Newt?”

“‘Fraid I haven’t,” Graves said, turning to address him, and Newt just wanted to melt into the desk and die. Graves stuck his free hand, the hand not holding a beautiful bouquet of wildflowers, out to him and smiled. “Percival Graves.”

Newt opened his mouth at he took the man’s hand, but all that came out was an embarrassing squeak followed by a pain moan of sorts and a crimson red flush. Graves’ smile, if possible, grew warmer.

“You’ll have to spell that one for me,” Graves teased.

Newt,” Queenie said, smacking Newt’s arm pointedly. “Is a new nurse here. I thought he should meet the hospital’s favorite visitor.”

Graves blushed ever so slightly - just the faintest hint of pink - at that and Newt couldn’t help but feel jealous that even when embarrassed, the man blushed so tamely, so handsomely, it wasn’t fucking fair.

“Ah, that,” Graves said, then turned to smile at him again. “Don’t listen to these angels, I’m really not as exciting as they build me up to be.”

Newt squeaked again, then jumped down from the desk suddenly - eager to be away. 

“Right, well, must run. Duties, and all that–”

Queenie stopped him.

“Wait, Newt, take these,” she said, passing the lovely bouquet from Graves firm hands to Newt’s trembling arms.

“Oh, do you not want to take them to your…?” Newt trailed off, stunned.

Graves shook his head.

“No, I never do. Wish them well for me,” Graves said with a little nod, before beaming at Queenie again, “Have a lovely day, Queensies.”

Queenie blew him a kiss goodbye as she quickly scribbled a number on a post-it. 

“Here, take them to this room if you don’t mind, Newt,” Queenie said, “I would do it, but I’m awfully busy.”

Curious, Newt thought as he walked away, hands full of flowers - she didn’t look awfully busy. But she did look mischievous as fuck. 

He takes the flowers to the room that Graves never visited, but brought flowers to everyday. All the way there, he pictured who this person might be. A lovely young lady in a coma, maybe - his fiancee. Sleeping away the years they had promised to each other, too painful for him to see. Or perhaps his grandmother or father. Or a coworker. 

Instead, the room belonged to a bald little girl with big blue eyes and a smile that didn’t deserve to die. Newt slipped the flowers into her lap and melted - taken away for a moment by the light of her excitement - as she buried her face into them and beamed. Her mother wiped away a tear that he daughter didn’t catch, but Newt did. Her father placed them in a vase, only –

There were no other vases… And this man brought flowers every day?

“Rest up now,” Newt said softly in parting, then went about the rest of the day with the stranger - Percival Graves - on his mind. He found himself eagerly listening whenever the nurses spoke his name. He kept track of where the flowers went, a different room each time. He tried to connect the dots, but couldn’t, so finally - he went back to Queenie.

“Alright, spill,” Newt said in a rush, startling her again. “What gives?”

“Hmm? You’ll have to be a bit more specific, honey,” she smiled knowingly.

“That handsome bloke, Graves. What’s up with the flowers?”

“Handsome, hmm?” Asked a voice from behind him, amused and warm and terrifying. Newt just about shot out of his skin - then burned out of it, he was flushing so bad. 

“Running a bit late today, Mr. Graves,” Queenie smiled, winking. Graves chuckled bashfully.

“Forgot the shop keys at my place, set me back a bit.”

“Kind of you to still make the trip,” Queenie said as she accepted the flowers from him as she always did. Graves shrugged.

“They were just going to die if I didn’t. I’d rather them go here where they can slip away making someone smile rather than let them wilt in my shop, unseen. I don’t know why people don’t enjoy wildflowers more,” Graves said. 

“Me neither. Well, their loss. I’m sure that…” she trailed off as she looked at her computer, “Ah! Ms. Johanson will love them. She’s going into surgery today and could use the smile.”

“Perfect,” Graves said, “You’re such a saint, Queensies, you always know where my flowers need to go. Bless you.”

“Wouldn’t be no saint without the man that gave’em,” she said.

Newt blinked, the pieces falling into place.

“You’re a florist,” Newt said bluntly.

Graves blinked. “Yes… you didn’t know?”

“No, I thought…”

Graves chuckled.

“You thought I had a loved one tucked away in a bed here somewhere?” Graves asked, then said, “If I did, I’d be sitting in the chair beside’em every damn day. No, got no one to sit beside, thank God. Single as the day as I was born. I just stop by with the flowers I can’t sell anymore and let Queenie here give’em to a good home.”

Newt blinked.


Graves looked down at his shoes, a flush building lightly on his cheeks. “Foolish, I know. Everyone tells me what a waste of money it is. I could wait another day to sell’em but–”

“–hot,” Newt blurted out before he could stop himself. Silence fell between the three of them. Queenie looked far too pleased for Newt’s comfort.

He opened his mouth to apologize, but Graves’ shocked face just melted into amusement and a unidentifiable flicker of something Newt doesn’t quite catch before giving Queenie a parting wink.

“Gotta run, Queensies,” he says, then smiles differently for Newt. “Newt.”

And he’s gone, walking away again - his ass a fucking sin in his pants. 

“He’s a good man, that Mr. Graves,” Queenie said as they watched him slip through the hospital’s front doors again. “He’s got that subtle sort of kindness. Don’t you think?”

“So it would seem,” Newt squeaked, “I’m just gonna go lock myself into a closet now and die, bye Queenie.”

“Bye dear!”

The next morning, there’s two bouquets at the front desk. Wildflowers for Mr. Scorsfield in 303b, and a handful of Forget-Me-Nots littered with Daffodils and baby’s breath for Newt, tagged with a little card bearing nothing but a number and this:

You’re not so bad looking yourself.

Lord of Thorns (Chapter One)(Spideypool AU)

Welcome to the story! I am so excited to share this with you!
This first Chapter is LONG AS HELL. We get to meet all the characters, background info etc. Beast!Wade, Beauty!Peter, Gaston!Harry.
Fair warning guys, Harry is… icky. I had never realized just how awful of a person Gaston is with his borderline sexual assault on Belle until I watched the new movie and I couldn’t get it out of my head. So yeah, Harry as Gaston is icky.
Characters are Ryan Reynolds as Wade, Andrew Garfield as Peter, James Franco as Harry, and Sally Field as Aunt May.

I tagged everyone who liked/reblogged my preview post, so if you would like to taken off/ added to the tag list please let me know!


I hope you all enjoy this :) Please reach out to me and let me know, I love to hear from my readers.

Every significant moment in your life is inked on your skin in the form of flowers. A first kiss, a perfect day, a favorite memory, a wedding, the birth of a child, and of course, the death of a loved one.

The flowers first appear on your ribs, traveling up your side and across your chest, spreading to your neck and down across your back and if you are lucky, enough bloom to cover your arms and legs. By the time you are old, your skin is covered in lovely flowers and leaves and trailing vines, like tattoos that tell your life story, and the more intricate the blooms, the luckier you are.

Some people have flowers with specific meanings– blooms that signify compassion and care decorate teachers. The best lovers are covered in red flowers for passion and love. Others simply are covered in every flower imaginable, the random colors and designs filling their skin like a meadow filled with happy memories.

Both way are beautiful. Both ways are desired.

But then, some people have thorns winding through their flowers, black slashing through the colors.  These are the people to avoid, the worst people, the people whose souls are so stained with their misdeeds, that it spills out onto their skin for the world to see.
These are the people doomed to be alone.


Once upon a time, in a faraway land, a young prince lived in a shining castle, deep in the heart of an endless forest.

He was beautiful, this prince, tall and strong with golden blonde hair, light blue eyes that glowed when he laughed, and perfect smooth skin nearly covered with flowers and blooms because the prince had had many happy moments in his twenty nine years.

But alas, despite his beauty, his heart was cold and his smile cruel, his words like barbs when he spoke.

Some of the townspeople blamed the late King, rest his soul, for turning the Prince so bitter. After the lovely queen had passed away shortly after the Prince’s seventh birthday, there had been no one to act as a buffer between the cruel King and the innocent boy, and the Prince had suffered for it. The King lived a life of drinking and partying, using and discarding any beautiful person that caught his eye, man or woman, and the Prince grew up with the same values. What had once been a teasing sense of humour turned sarcastic and cutting. Instead of laughing readily at almost anything, the Prince began only laughing at someone elses misfortune. The years turned the darling little boy into a cynical young man.

Others blamed the war that had nearly destroyed their kingdom years before. The Prince had ridden off ahead of their troops as a boy barely of age and had come home a hardened man. The soldiers told quiet stories of the Princes surprising talent of fighting with the twin blades known as katanas, how he could decimate an entire platoon just by himself. Spoke even quieter of his many romantic entanglements with the best looking soldiers, of nights spent listening to him find his pleasure, only to see him break the unlucky soldiers heart soon after. And just the barest whispers of the way the Prince would laugh as he tore through their enemies, blades flying, taunting and teasing non stop as he killed mercilessly. The way he talked about slaying soldiers as if it was a game, drunk and giggling about it over the fire.

Despite their negative feelings, all the townspeople waited eagerly for their invitation to the Prince’s 30th Birthday Party, for tonight he was to choose a partner to share the throne. The most handsome men and the most beautiful women made themselves up in their finery, each trying to outshine the other. Unlike most of the other kingdoms, having two Kings, or even two Queens, was not an issue. Several of the previous rulers had been adopted into the family because the ruling partners could not have a child naturally. Others had been carried by surrogates, and raised as royalty, the idea of “pure” royal blood an outdated concept they refused to engage in.

After all, families were about love, not about bloodlines, so the Prince could choose whoever he wanted.

Needless to say, the kingdom was almost in an uproar, each eligible person trying to figure out what they could do to catch the Prince’s eye.

As always, the castle was decorated in astonishing, jaw dropping colors, flowers imported from all over the world strewn across the tables and floors. Entertainers from the East wowed the guests with magic, and musicians from all the grandest symphonies played in every corner of the ball room.

And the Prince sat upon his throne, a self satisfied smirk on his handsome face as all the most beautiful people paraded themselves in front of him, each dress more intricate than the last, each suit a richer shade of varying colors, each glance more flirtatious, each smile more promising.

He was still so charming, even after going away to war, after becoming so bitter. When he wanted to pay a compliment, his words left the recipient blushing, fanning themselves. Older women who disapproved of his ways were swayed to his side by mischievous smiles and flirty winks. His eyes were like a magnet, and once he had you in his sights, you were already lost, and he knew it. His beauty was like a weapon, and he wielded it effortlessly.  

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

What happens tho? Do the pens have to go searching for a way to keep sid on land? Do they have to fight the kingdom? Does geno have to fight his betrothed? Does the media find out? Are the rookies now terrified? Is everyone freaking out? How do they fix it? Does it happen the Conor is actually also a mermaid who did the same as sid but he's not royal but he's knows who sid is? Does Conor know some magical way to keep sid or does he offer something like finding true happiness or love? Ily x

“You’re a mermaid?” Tanger is shouting. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I’m a Mer,” Sidney shoots back, wincing when Geno puts the hair blow dryer a little too close. Geno whispers an apology, but he doesn’t look away from Sidney’s tail. “And I’m male. I’m not a mermaid.”

“Not my fucking point! This is—this is huge. Why did you keep this from us?”

“What am I supposed to say, Tanger?” Sidney yells. “That I have a fish tail? Your kind doesn’t believe in the Mer. You’d think I was crazy.”

“This whole thing is crazy!” He puts two fingers to his temple, then breathes deeply. “Fuck. I’m sorry. Look, I think we can all agree that you’re still our captain, even if you’re…you’re a mermaid—“

“Mer,” Conor cuts in, very quietly. “We’re called Mer.”

Tanger whips around, as do the rest of the team who are trying to avoid staring directly at Sidney’s tail. “Excuse me?”

Keep reading

★ Spoiled Rotten / Brandon Larracuente ★

So I’ve come to the conclusion that I find Brandon the hardest to write for. This was supposed to be written hours ago by the way…Also, what was supposed to be a day of writing turned out to be a day of binge watching Wong Fu’s Lunch Break videos…

Words: 1301

You had almost forgotten what waking up alone was like after almost two years of being in a steady relationship and as you awoke this morning, you found that you were by yourself.

Your frown and confusion soon disappears as you find a single red rose and a card resting on top of Brandon’s pillow.

Sitting up, you let the sheets fall to your waist, reaching an arm out for both items. Smelling the rose, a smile forms on your face before you place it on your lap-opening the envelope to retrieve your card.

The sweet words on the front alone make your eyes water, Brandon’s own handwritten message inside making mix of emotions arise within you. Wiping your eyes, you take hold of your rose in one hand, still gripping the card in the other, as you make your way out of your bedroom.

You find Brandon in the kitchen dishing up your breakfast. Placing what you held on the bench, you approach your boyfriend and wrap your arms around his waist-hugging him from behind.

He releases a startled laugh and takes your hands in his, “You aren’t supposed to be up yet,” he insists slightly disappointed, but his smile was evident in his voice. “Happy birthday, (Y/N).”

“Thank you,” you murmur, against his back, your voice being muffled by his shirt.

Brandon turns around in your arms so he was facing you, drawing you in for a proper hug. You sigh in content as he presses a gentle kiss against your temple. “Your day is only just beginning,” he grins. “I have a few plans for today.”

Pulling back so you could see his face, your brow furrows. “Brandon…I didn’t want to make a big fuss out of today.”

He chuckles, moving his hands to your hips, “It’s your birthday and if you think I’m just going to treat today like any other day, you are mistaken, my love,” he says. “Now, go sit down and I’ll finish getting breakfast ready.”

Reluctantly, you pull away from his hold and start heading over to the stools by the island bench. You take a seat and finally notice the vase of flowers in the centre. “Are they for me?” you ask quietly, letting your fingers gently toy with the petals of a matching rose to the one you had found beside you just minutes earlier.

“Of course, do you like them?”

Admiring the mix of flowers, you nod eagerly, taking note of the large white lilies and small red carnations that matched the roses-the assortment of greenery evening out the combination. “I love them.”

Brandon’s smile widens as he turns back to the counter, adding the final touches to your meal. He moves to sit in the stool beside you, two plates in hand.

“Thank you,” you say, already eying off everything on the plate.

“It was no problem,” he brushes off, taking his first bite.

Focusing your attention on the man beside you, you tilt your head, “What else do you have planned for the day?” you question, remembering his earlier words.

“Well after we eat,” he answers, “I’ll give you your presents and then we’ll head out.”


He jumps at the increased volume of your voice, “What?”

“When I asked you not to get me anything-I actually meant it.”

He rolls his eyes, “(Y/N), I promise you’ll like it.”

“I’d love pretty much anything from you, you know that. But that’s not the point.”

Brandon sighs, “What if I tell you it’s not anything too grand? It’s more sentimental stuff. Does that help in any way?”

Sighing, you nod, “I guess, as long as you weren’t put out of your way.”

“When it comes to you” he says, “never.”

After you had both finished breakfast and gotten ready for the day-you had requested to open your gifts later that night and instead just continue with the plans Brandon had set out.

The first destination took you completely by surprise. Brandon took you to the place where so many of your favourite childhood memorise rooted.

When it was time for lunch, the only bit of information he shared with you was that you two would not be alone, but instead be joined by a few people whom he had not been inclined to disclose.

You had spotted your friends and family the moment you walked through the restaurant. A ‘few’ people turned out to consist of everyone in your life who was important to you-many of which you hadn’t seen in person for what felt like forever.

After lunch, you had said your goodbyes to everyone after making plans to meet up very soon and thanked them for coming. Brandon had lead you to the park where you both swung on the swings, filling the air with your laughter and mindless chatter.

Brandon had stopped swinging and was instead just watching you.

“We have to go in a minute,” he announces, glancing down at his watch.

“What else is there to do?” you ask with a small laugh.

His sends you a small smile, “Tired already?”

“A little,” you admit, slowing the speed of your swinging.

Brandon rises to his feet and takes a few steps backwards, waiting for you to join him. “I promise we only have one more stop then we can go home. Unless you want to skip this one,” he suggests.

You shake your head, finally coming to a stop and standing. “No,” you deny. “I want to go.” You were silent for a moment. “Where are we going?”

Brandon laughs as he wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you against his side and starting to guide you in the direction of the cinema. “I thought we’d go see that movie you wanted to see.”

You halt your movements, causing Brandon to stop walking. You place a hand on the side of his face and lean in to kiss him. “Thank you,” you state firmly.

“It’s just a movie,” he says, using his free hand to rest on your outer arm.

“No,” you deny. “It’s not just a movie. It’s the sweet card and the beautiful flowers and the breakfast and the mini trips we’ve had throughout the day and the lunch with my friends and my family-you’ve done so much for me today and I want to thank you.”

Brandon chuckles as you wing your arms loosely around his hips. “You’re welcome,” he whispers.

You peck his lips once more before resting your head on his chest, a shiver running down your back as Brandon’s hand slowly trail along the length of your back.

“I love you,” he says.

Smiling into his shirt you tighten your grip, “I love you too.”

Collapsing on the couch you let out a small laugh, “Today has been amazing,” you tell Brandon as he sits down, pulling you feet onto his lap. “Thank you.”

“You don’t need to keep thanking me,” he reminds you. “I’m just so glad today was a success.” Brandon gently rubs your leg, “So you really had a good day?”

You gently knock his chest with your foot, “Of course I did. I would have been ecstatic if we spent the whole day in bed watching movies or something. You really didn’t have to do any of this.”

“You still haven’t even opened your presents.”

Throwing your head back against the cushion, you cover your face with your arm. “Which are completely unnecessary by the way.”

Oh!” he says, his face lighting up, “we still have cake too! And you’re going to absolutely love the gifts,” he insists, moving to stand. “I hope so anyway,” he mumbles.

The sound of your laughter echoes around the room as he retreats to collect your gifts.


Bucky didn’t consider himself a bad person. Obviously, he dressed a little different from the rest of his school, but that didn’t mean he was a bad person. But with his black leather jacket and his habit of getting tattoos, he could see where people could find him slightly intimidating. On the other hand, take one look at how he was with Steve Rogers and people calmed down quite a bit. Now, some people thought he was in love with Steve. That was until they saw they way he looked at you.

You and Bucky seemed to be polar opposites. While he was generally roped into the punk community, you could be found with the gardening geeks and theater nerds. You could always be found singing songs from the school musicals.

You would often buy little pots, fill them with flowers, and give them to Bucky.  “To brighten up your day!” you would exclaim cheerfully. Little do you know, Bucky kept every one of the plant pots and they were scattered around his room. He watered them and fertilized them and kept them in peak condition.

He considered the flowers some of the greatest gifts anyone had ever given them. You had taken the time to buy cute pots and fill them with flowers, and then to give them to Bucky. He was floored the first few times you did it. He demanded to know if it was some kind of joke or if you thought he was someone else. Any other person may have freaked out and run off, but not you. You simply smiled and said, “Of course, they’re meant for you, James.” And another thing, you called him James, a thing that no one else did, not even Steve. And with anyone else, he would have protested.

But not you, never you. The very way your voice sounded when calling him by his little-used first name made feelings stir in the pit of his stomach. Your voice was melodic and sweet, two words Bucky never thought he’d used to describe someone’s voice; .hell, he never thought he’d be describing someone’s voice. Yet he was in his Algebra 2 class daydreaming about you while staring at you and thinking about the flowers in his room.

“Barnes! If you could stop daydreaming about your lady friend over there, that’d be great.” Bucky looks back over at you and notices a deep blush spreading across your face. Muttering an apology, he goes back to daydreaming about you. He wonders if he asked you out, would you say yes? Or would he end up embarrassed by a soft rejection? He decided to ask you after class, hoping with all of his heart that you say yes.

Soon, the bell rings. He rushes after you and asks you to meet him by the school swimming pool, even though it’s a known place where the punks hang out. He figures by being in his element, he can muster up the confidence to ask you out. He says five o'clock, knowing by that time the pool is relatively empty. He gets there at 4:30, not wanting to be late, only to find you’ve done the same thing. You’re dressed differently than you were during the school day. Instead of your white jeans and pale pink tunic, you’re wearing lavender shorts that go down to your knees and a white t-shirt. You greet him quietly, as you always do.

“Hello, James, how are you?”

“I’m good, doll, thanks for meeting me here.” Bucky replies. Your gentle smile eased Bucky’s nerves ever so slightly. He knew even if you rejected him, the two of you would still be friends and you’d likely still give him flowers. But why would give him flowers if you didn’t like him in the first place?

“Can I ask why you wanted to meet? I didn’t figure you’d want to talk after what happened in algebra….” your voice trails off.

“What happened in algebra was my fault, not yours. Either way, he wasn’t wrong, I was daydreaming about you. Which leads me to why I asked you to meet. I wanted to know if you wanted to go out to dinner.” Bucky asks.

“James, I’d love to go out to dinner with you. When?” you ask excitedly.

“ Now if you’d like.”

“That sounds wonderful!” You exclaim. You both head out to the school parking lot, slowly walking towards Bucky’s motorcycle. He swings his legs over the bike and grabs two helmets, handing one to you. You toss one leg over the bike and put the helmet on. Bucky starts the motorcycle and zooms out of the parking lot, immediately after putting his helmet on. He speeds toward the local diner.

When you arrive there, you pull off your helmet and hand it to Bucky. After pulling off his own helmet, Bucky wraps an arm around you and you both walk into the diner. You take a seat at a booth and Bucky moves to sit across from you. You both order bacon cheeseburgers and fries with milkshakes. (If you don’t eat meat or animal products, just fill in whatever you would eat.) While waiting for your order you and Bucky chat a bit.

“So can I ask why you wanted to have dinner?” you ask. Bucky gives you a small smile.

“ I’ve liked you for a while, and I figured you like me, too. Seeing as you keep giving me all of those flowers.” A blush spreads across your face quickly.

“Oh, those? I can stop if you’d like.” you murmur, looking down.

“I’d love it if you didn’t, they really do brighten my day.” he replies.

Soon, your food comes. You both wolf it down hungrily. You pull your wallet out to pay your half.  

“No, no, I asked you out, I’ll pay.” Bucky offers smoothly, pulling out his own wallet. After a few minutes arguing, you decide to let him pay. You walk out of the restaurant with Bucky’s arm wrapped around your waist, just the same as when you walked in. He tosses you the helmet.

“Can I give you a ride home? I assume you walked to school to meet me?” he asks.

“That’d be lovely.” you agree. After a short drive, you arrive at your house. Bucky gets off the bike and walks you to your front door.

“May I kiss you?” Bucky asks gently. After your breathy ‘yes’, he leans forward and kisses you softly. Your hands move up around his neck and begin to toy with his long hair. He lets out a sigh when you do so, breaking apart moments later.

“God, doll, you’re killing me.” he says, voice quiet but rough. Your hands grip his hair tighter as you pull him down for another kiss, this one slightly more heated as Bucky’s hands grab your waist and his tongue slips into your mouth. He pulls back slowly, lips slightly puffy from kissing you. He gently places kisses down your neck, before pulling away with a sense of finality. He removes your hands from his neck and grasps them tightly.

“Doll, would you like to be my girl?” Bucky asks quietly.

“I’d love that, James.”