sick of me yet

3

Thorton had the entire weekend off, so the next morning him and Poppy went to shoot some hoops in the driveway. He thinks he was a little too physical with Poppy the night before and hurt her, “Does that feel better?” he asked Poppy. She smirks, suggestively. “Nothing could feel better” Thorton blushes brightly.

Readying himself to shoot, “So, it’s almost been a week. Are you sick of me, yet?” Poppy scoffs “Not at all. You could probably burn my house down and I wouldn’t be that mad, hahaha.” Thorton drops the ball and frantically picks it back up. “Are you worried at all?” 

She bars her eyebrows, Thorton raises his in suggestion to last night. “WORDS, THORTON.” Poppy blurts annoyed. He feels embarrassed to say, “We didn’t have any uh.. preventatives, last night. I don’t know if that’s something you want or not, or were okay with. So I didn’t really say anything?” Poppy fans her shirt out, trying to cool off. “No, not really? Babies come from trash cans, anyways.” Poppy is joking.

Thorton regrets not saying anything, but in the back of his mind knew it was a possibility. He spent all night up thinking what their life would be like if they had a kid,  he liked the thought. He shoots for the hoop, and misses. “NUTS, MAN.” 

Sun-kissed Sleepy

Note: Not requested, but this came about because I went to the pool today and then went straight to work and I felt that sleepy feeling you get after spending time in the sun. Its a special and specific kind of sleepy. I don’t know how else to describe it, but it’s nice. It made me want to take a nap with Shawn.

~~~

The cool air of your hotel room hits you as soon as you swing open the door. You had turned the air conditioner on high before you left because you knew it would be hot outside, but a shiver runs down your spine as the blast of cool air hits you without warning. You head straight for your bathroom to take a shower, dropping your wet towel on the bathroom floor before removing your black bikini and getting under the warm stream of water.

When you get out of the shower, you feel exhaustion hit you. You had just spent the last four hours lounging by the pool, and the sun takes a lot out of you. It’s one in the afternoon, a perfect time for a nap. There is something about afternoon naps after mornings spent in the sun. They’re magical, and they have a certain feel to them.

Exiting the bathroom, you hear the television on in the hotel room, and a smile spreads across your face knowing that your boyfriend has returned. He was gone doing press all morning. You offered to go with him, but he insisted you stay back and enjoy the resort. You were in Florida after all.

Shawn is seated at the edge of the bed, watching the hockey game on the tv. When he sees you, he smiles and says “Hey baby,”

“Hey hun, how was work?” You question as you crawl onto the bed behind him, which immediately prompts him to move so he’s lying next to you. 

“Good, nothing special.” You cuddle closer into his side as his arm automatically wraps around you, and he asks, “You tired?” To which you only sleepily nod in response. “Didn’t you just sit at the pool all morning?” He questions, purposely giving you a hard time, but you know he’s joking and doesn’t mean it in a mean way.

“Yeah, but the sun makes me sleeeeepy.” You drag out the last word before hiding your face in his t-shirt. The afternoon sun is shining into the hotel room, and the exhaustion you feel is a good kind of exhaustion. Shawn has a show in a couple of hours, but neither of you have anything planned until then. “Take a nap with me?” You ask Shawn.

“You’re literally the cutest person ever.” He tells you smiling down at you.

Your eyes flutter closed, and you’re too tired to respond to his statement. You feel his lips press lightly against your forehead before he moves slightly to get more comfortable. And in his arms you fall asleep listening to the sound of his steady breathing.

Originally posted by lunaticdisposition

I shall title this “Wearing your giant animal of a boyfriend’s shirt and a shitty forever 21 cap is usually lame, however if you’re a beautiful androgynous young man you can do whatever the fuck you want”

maybe i don’t want to “consider” a sexist or ableist’s viewpoint because that’s what i’ve been told to do my entire life. it’s what i’ve been asked when i was told “boys will be boys” or when teachers told my mother that maybe i wouldn’t be bullied if i tried fitting in better. maybe i’m sick of being asked to accommodate to them when doing so dehumanizes me, yet they’re never asked to stop.

im getting back into the feel of underfell, rehyping myself with all my ideas

Nothing says “sorry” like Roses

Namjoon x Reader

1.4k words

Genre: Fluff

Summary: You wok at a flower shop, and Namjoon needs something that says “sorry I burned your kitchen down and spilled your grandmothers ashes; please give my dog back.” 


“What did you do?” 

The words slipped past your lips before you could stop them, but it was an obvious question that you didn’t usually have to ask. Normally, when nervous men walked into the small florist shop, they wanted nothing more than to tell you why they were sleeping on the couch this time. You had heard everything, nothing surprised you anymore–other than this clumsy young man wandering around as though he had no idea how he had gotten there.

“Sorry?” He said, turning abruptly to face you.

“Not to be nosy, but I might be able to help you if I know what you’re looking for–or what you’re apologizing for.” You said, and the man rubbed the back of his neck as he looked at the floor. “You don’t have to tell me, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” 

“I set her kitchen on fire.” He muttered after a moment.

“Oh. Well nothing says sorry like roses–” You started, but he shook his head.

“That’s not all. I broke her vase…” 

“That’s not so bad.” You said, giving him a reassuring smile. “You can give her a new one with the flowers.”

He shook his head again. “It had her grandmothers ashes in it.” 

“Oh.” That had you stumped for a moment, and he continued before you recovered. 

“Her parents hate me. She says I don’t spend enough time with her. She moved out last week and took my dog. So I need something that says “Sorry I burned down half your house, spilled your grandmothers ashes, and that I’m not very likable. Please forgive me, and give Monie back.” 

You nodded slowly. This would be tough. If you had known him as a friend, you probably would have told him to give up–at some point, relationships weren’t going to get better. You had seen it all, heard it all, and flowers could only do so much; you weren’t a miracle worker.

But not only was he a customer, his dog was at stake.

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