when you start dating pope, it’s like you’ve also started dating jj. they come as a joint package, which you kind of already knew but not to this extent. jj almost always crashes your dates, shows up to the picnic you packed and spread out on a towel at the beach, starts snacking on the heart-shaped fruit you’d cut up for pope. sometimes the two of you ditch dinner because he needs to run to go help one of this friends—more often than not, it’s jj. even when you’re just cuddling in pope’s room, sneaking up there to be alone even though his parents know and love you, you’ll hear the roar of jj’s bike and groan into pope’s chest.
if you’re annoyed (besides for the occasional whine) you don’t show it to your boyfriend. this is his best friend, and by association, should be your friend too. you welcome him to everything you and pope are doing, pack extra food just in case, make pope buy a large cream when he really wanted a small because you know jj will eat the rest.
it’s nice, you’re beginning to think. you just want pope to be pleased with you—which he always is. you don’t understand the implications of this little trio you’ve become a part of until a little later.
in pope’s truck, smooshed in the front between pope driving and jj in the passenger seat. you’ve been driving for what feels like ages, listening to the two boys talk back and forth, cracking jokes and making each other laugh. you’re too sleepy to engage, quietly watching the road ahead for as long as you could before your head dips and settles onto pope’s shoulder.
“hey, pretty girl-” pope starts, trying to shift his arm to keep the wheel stable. “we’re almost there, don’t fall asleep on me now.”
you mumble something indecipherable against his shirt, when you hear jj speak up.
“nah, man, let her sleep. who knows what kinda freaky shit you put her through. she needs to rest.” you barely understand him, just hearing your boyfriend and his friend exchange words quietly, laughing.
“jj, help me out here so i can drive,” and you feel yourself being moved from pope’s shoulder by big, warm hands on your arm and then on your waist. you don’t resist, only pull away from jj’s touch to give pope a kiss on the cheek, before leaning away from him and melting into jj’s grip, head against his chest, his arm around your shoulder and hand playing with your hair. you’ve never thought about it before, but jj smells really good—not exactly the pine and saltwater and cotton scent of pope, but musky like the forest and the sand at the beach. you’re out within a minute, chest rising and falling evenly and quiet snores filling the truck.
jj stares down at you in his arms for a little too long, and then looks up at pope, who’s looking at the two of you. they both smile.
195 notes
·
View notes
The Colors of the Rainbow
Timothée asks y/n what color he reminds her of, and she puts a lot more effort into an answer than he could ever imagine.
Warnings and such: it's. so. fluffy. also like one swear word? illusions to "adult situations" but nothing bad! not proofread!
A/N : i'm backkkk!! not gonna lie, i didn't expect to be gone nearly a month, but life sucks lately and it just kinda happened...im sorry!!! thanks for the continued love and support! also- i get my cast off in like 10 days! yay!
---------------------------------------------------------------------
"what color do you associate me with?"
His voice drew my attention away from the book in hand, the first words spoken aloud in hours. it was thought provoking; a color?
"what do you mean?"
"when you hear my name, what color do you think of?"
I had never thought of that before, but now seemed a good a time as any. I allowed my eyes to wonder over him as I thought about the best answer.
Red: bold and beautiful. a bright color, attention grabbing and hard to look away from. the color of our bedroom lights after too many nights spent apart. the color of his eyes after he smokes too much and giggles on the couch. The color of our lips when we finally pull away, gasping quietly for breath. Red. The metaphor of blood shed that went into making us, and making us work. red, bold and beautiful.
Orange: autumn. obviously. the color of pumpkins, of crazy sunsets and sunrises, worthy of photographs we'll never look at again but in the moment, it's important. the color of comfort, warmth and a cool breeze. orange, deep like fire, the burning desire for him, for me, for each other. the color that paints my insides when i look at him and remember that he is mine.
Yellow: not the neon yellow, but the soft yellow. the yellows the paint the sky for a brief moment in the early hours of the day, when the world is waking up again and the day is starting. the color that floods our bedroom and allows dust to dance in the air around us. the last color we see as we fall asleep together. the color night owls are always chasing. for him, it's the color he radiates when he walks into the room, bright and happy, a glow that follows him and intoxicates everyone in his path.
Green: earthy and holy. natural beauty, like the nature we crave amidst the bustle of the new york city. not a color i see him on often, but the color of his eyes. the color i get lost in when he talks, drunk on the sound of his voice. the color behind his entire world. it's calming and comforting. it's him. a color i would happily see every day for the rest of my life. a color i plan to see for eternity.
Blue: the color of water and cleanliness. he loves his showers, his pools, and the rare trips on boat rides for secret swimming holes. a water bug through and through. the color for which he starts every morning, a fresh start. the color of winter, cool and quiet. for nights spent close together under heavy blankets, skin on skin. the color that accompanies him to premieres and interviews, a color that demands attention in the softest tone.
Purple: both the softest and deepest versions. a child-like representation of each, a playful color. a color which adorns his body on quiet days spent shopping, or nights gallivanting around for basketball games and bars with his friends. a color i often associate with nights home without him, the undeniable fact that he'll stumble through the front door in the early hours of the morning, the smell of alcohol lingering on his breath as he tells me he loves me.
White: innocent, clean, wholesome. a stereotypical color, but there's truth to it. sure, he's not pure in the sense of what the color stands for traditionally (can you blame a girl?) except he is. through all of life's changes, the good, the bad, and everything in between, he's stayed true to who he is. he's happy, ready for life's adventures. he wants to be the person his generation can look up to, someone who defies the odds and makes a name for himself on his own. he doesn't need, or want, poor publicity or the lingering story of being a hollywood fuckup. he won't be- he can't be.
Pink: a color typically labeled for feminism, but golly doesn't he look beautiful in pink! it's bold and impossible to look away from. the lightest shades for the purest and most innocent, the darkest shades for the most demanding and defiant. why not break stereotypes?! the clothes make the man, so they say...but for him? no. he makes the clothes. he's what pulls the outfit together, the one who makes the color beautiful. beautiful, like the color that paints his cheeks when his heart flutters in his chest.
Gray: a color for balance. there's never light without the dark. with good days, comes bad. we get tired, sick and worn down but it reminds us we are human. a color reserved for coffee runs on lazy sundays, after sleeping away the stress of the previous week and preparing ourselves for the next. a comforting color, one that reminds us we are allowed to be sad, but the feeling will pass and the sun will shine again. be patient, good things take time.
***
"Black." I settled on the answer with a smile.
"Black?!"
"Yes!"
"Why?! That's the most basic color!" He chuckled softly, nudging me with his foot.
"No, it's the most important color."
"Important?"
"Well, it's a perfect combination of all the colors, and all their qualities. You've got the best of them all, love."
"How so?" There was no hiding the color pink on his cheeks.
Black: the perfect combination of all the colors that exist. the best qualities mashed into one, leaving ample opportunity to add more of the color that's most needed. black, the color of the room which we share in the middle of the night, where the only sounds are soft snoring or heavy moaning. sometimes both. it's in this color where we find solace in one another, an indescribable feeling of peace, a place which we call home. in the arms of the man i love. all the colors in the world, every combination of letters in every language- it'll never be enough to express the gratitude i have for the stars above that lead me to him.
107 notes
·
View notes