Dating Cliff Booth Would Include:

Bones And All

Lee:

Passenger: Lee would follow you to the ends of the earth. A night he thought he was showing you just how much he loves you has to be reevaluated when he understands the pain you've been put through in the past.

(Romance/Smut/Fluff)

IN-BETWEEN DAYS

Carl Grimes x Reader

⚠️ Warnings: language ⚠️

The light was so bright it hurt your eyes.

The smell of the hospital room was one you'd never forget. It was your dad's last moments, after all, and the place reeked of death and old perfume. You tried your best to focus on something as silly as the smell to keep you distracted from the scene that was playing out before you. Your dad, lying helpless and stating up at the ceiling as a flurry of doctors rushed around the room and around his bed, yelling incoherent sentences to the others before beginning the procedure. You knew it wouldn't work. He was already gone.

The same light that seemed so bright to you left his eyes and a hoarse sigh escaped his lips. He died smiling and you knew it was purely because he saw your mother waiting for him on the other side.

...

Your father never had to live in this apocalyptic world, which was a good thing. He had died of a heart attack a few years back and you focused on keeping yourself alive throughout all the chaos surrounding you. You were a different person now then you were back then. You wondered if he'd be proud of the shitty decisions you've made leading up to this point; the way you had to teach yourself how to fight and kill, never letting anyone into your heart and break down your walls. That is until you met Carl.

You had been an orphan after your father's death, going in and out of orphanages and foster homes until the apocalypse hit. You found yourself all alone after that and did your best with what you could to survive with what you had. You had met Rick's group along the way, finding out later that they had just lost their last shelter which apparently was a prison not to far from where you were stationed. An old treehouse.

Why you were remembering your past at a time like this, you didn't know why. You just felt especially nostalgic today of all days and you were reminded of your father because Carl had found one of your favorite CD's while out on a run- The Cure.

Your father had also enjoyed The Cure and it felt even more painful to listen to it today, because of the nostalgia and the fact that you were finally starting to enjoy bits and pieces of what was left of the world without him. You felt guilty. Guilty for letting him die.

No. It wasn't your fault.

But it felt like it.

You pet Carl's hair as he laid in your lap, eye closed and lost in thought as you both listened to the song 'In Between Days' by The Cure. You weren't sure what he was thinking about, but part of you felt as though he was reliving his past and overthinking the his actions too. It was songs like these that made you feel your past creeping up on you again. You didn't mind thinking about your past. Your father had been sick for a very long time. You had killed people before but you would do it all over again to save those you cared about. You wondered if Carl felt the same.

He didn't let anyone into his head. He never had a problem showing emotion around you, he just preferred to lay in your lap as you both reminisce of the way things were before and you glide your fingers through his messy locks of hair. It calmed you as well, being able to hold him in that way, a way he wouldn't let anyone else.

The winter was colder, so often times Carl would make his way over to where you were sitting on the couch and lay his head down in your lap looking for the comfort that only you could give him. Sometimes he'd fall asleep on you but you didn't mind. You were an insomniac anyways, so having something as soothing as Carl's short and heavy breathing as you lied awake helped you relieve the tension of the day.

"Are you still awake?"

The blue eyed boy looked up at you, finally opening his eyes and letting a tear slip down his cheek. He looked beautiful that way. His eyes were stormy and the light shining in through the windows of your living room cast shadows across his face and made his freckles seem electrified.

"Yes." Was all you replied with. It was all you could reply with since you were still zoned out.

He moved so he was sitting next to you on the couch and eased you down onto his lap so he could return the loving gesture. You made yourself comfortable against the cold denim of his jeans and felt his hands run through your (H/L), (H/C) hair.

"(Y/N), I don't know if I've told you this before, but Robert Smith is a wonderful musician. I can see why you and your dad liked him so much." He said, as you started to fall asleep against him.

"Yeah. He really is. This song reminds me of you."

"How so?"

You sighed. "It's a beautiful irony. Isn't it? The song seems so happy and uplifting at first glance, but there's so much meaning behind the lyrics and the more you think about them the sadder the story gets. But it is also beautiful. It's beautiful in the way that it reminds you of all the times you felt infinite, the times your heart was broken, and the overwhelming sense of being forgotten but then remembering how meaningful love is."

He was silent for a moment before he spoke "I've never had someone understand me on a level that emotional before. It's kind of nice being around you. I don't have to say anything and you've already got me all figured out. It's why I love you."

You felt the importance of his words flow through your mind and travel down every part of your body. It was so nice to be told you're loved and not from your parents. You weren't sure if there was a greater feeling then that of being loved. And you were loved by Carl so it was extra special.

"I love you too Carl."

And with that, you drifted off to sleep, Robert Smith filling your ears with happiness and Carl underneath you, rubbing small circles in your hair and making you feel infinite. You only felt infinite with Carl. Next time you listened to this song, you knew you would be reminiscent of this moment.

(Gifs aren't mine, sorry the story was so short it's currently 4:00 am and I am on day #2 without sleep)

“my child is fine”

Your child literally reads smut with a straight face while eating breakfast like it’s the morning paper.

May I request an imagine with Steve/Eddie where they visit girlfriend (reader) and see that shes using there shirt/jacket as a pillow case?🥺

this is the sweetest idea ever and i thought steve would find it so cute thank you for requesting! 1k fem reader :3

Steve hasn't seen you in four days and six hours when he knocks your door, incompatible schedules solely to blame. He's sick as a dog on your stoop waiting for you to answer, a bouquet of flowers hidden behind his back. 

You open the door and he watches with an aching chest as your lips turn up into a beaming smile. "Steve!" you say, almost tripping over the threshold in your rush to get arms around him. 

He chuckles and hugs you back with one arm holding the flowers away from you, the closeness of your body an instant relief. He takes in all your smells and softness, your shampoo and body lotion, the heady scent of perfume as he pushes his nose into the space behind your ear. 

You make a small breathless sound as he squeezes you and try to squeeze him tighter, an evil giggle bubbling out of you as your arms become a vice. 

"Ouch," he pretends, patting your back. "Alright, enough with the squeezing, popeye." 

"You started it," you say cheerily. 

He pulls you away from his neck. "Lemme look at you." 

You oblige, chin jutting up, eyes half lidded as you pose for him. He eats up the details of your pretty face hungrily, wondering if it's possible for someone to get more attractive in a hundred and two hours. It's definitely likely. 

"You're still pretty?" he asks. "I thought we agreed you were gonna stop." 

"I didn't agree to anything of the sort. What's behind your back?" you ask, practically glowing. 

He presents the flowers gladly, his arm aching from being all pretzeled up. You gasp loudly though he knew you'd felt them during your aggressive hugging. 

"These are for me?" you ask, taking them into your hands. 

"Nah, my other girlfriend." 

You glare at him for about two seconds and then you're smiling so hard he thinks your cheeks must ache with it, grabbing for his hand to pull him inside.

"I've missed your sarcasm," you say, and it's a discredit to Steve that he has no clue if you're being sincere or otherwise. 

You pull him straight to the kitchen and pull a vase down from atop one of the cabinets. 

"We're gonna be late for the movie," Steve says. 

"Sorry, I just have to get these in water. Actually, I'm rescinding my apology. It's your fault for buying flowers." 

"And I never will again," he threatens with little heat and even less honesty. 

"Uh-huh," you say, arranging the flowers nicely in the small glass vase. "Oh, I don't have my purse." 

"I'll get it." 

"Would you?" you ask, relieved, fully focused on the bouquet, moving flowers around to make them look best. 

He's fast up the stairs and into your bedroom, a familiar place that smells like all his best memories. Your sheets are rumpled and there are clothes everywhere, perfumes and deodorants and skincare strewn over your vanity. Steve doesn't know where to look, eyes panning over the room twice before he spots your discarded purse on the floor by the side of your bed. 

He bends down to grab it and his eyes zero in on your pillow. He reaches out, rubs his hand over material that he knows well. 

You've tucked your pillow inside one of his t-shirts. He feels glued in place, feet refusing to move as he takes it in, as he imagines your sleeping face pressed against it. 

He feels an incredible and heart aching rush of affection for you, and then an overwhelming swell of joy. He's loved. He's very, very loved. He thinks of your hair tie on his wrist even now, how his eyes dart to it over and over and over while he's working and how he refuses to take it off, even though each reminder of you is a melancholy stab to the chest when he can't see you. 

Your footsteps up the stairs. "Did you find it? I finished all the flowers. Thank you, Steve, really, they're so beautiful, I-" 

You're cut off by his arms around you again, your feet lifting off of the ground as he pulls you up and in, his arms under yours, his hands gripping your shoulders likely too tight. You cup his head with your forearms. 

"This is nice," you murmur, rubbing your cheek against his temple. He takes a handful of deep breaths.

When he sets you down he doesn't let you go – he chases you, your back bending as he tries to pull you impossibly closer. 

You're quiet for a little while, the two of you standing and hugging, breathing in the other. Then, "Steve? Is everything okay?" 

He pulls away, hands on either side of your throat to hold you still, knowing what he's gonna ask will have you averting your eyes. 

"You're using my shirt as a pillow case?" he asks. 

Like he'd assume your eyes widen and then close almost all the way. You turn your face from him. "Uh, maybe?" 

"Y/N," he says. 

"I know it was only a few days but I missed you so much, and it smelled like you, and I was supposed to take it off, I swear I was going to…" you ramble. 

Steve takes your warmed cheek into his hand. His thumb brushes over your bottom lip. There needs to be a word, he thinks, to describe this feeling. To want to give her anything she asks for. 

He drops his forehead gently into yours, his eyes closing, indulging in you. He doesn't need to see to know where your mouth is and after some racing thoughts about your general loveliness he pushes into it firmly with his own. You return his kiss, your gloss sticky lips parting eagerly as you bring your hand to his chest, your palm over his heart. 

He leans in hard for one desperate second, exhaling what feels like a year's worth of tension against your skin before pulling back. 

"I missed you," he says, head bobbing vehemently for emphasis.

"I missed you more," you say, hand roving up his collar, fingertips brushing lightly over his neck. 

"Not likely," Steve says, moving in for another quick kiss. 

"Were you sleeping with my clothes?" you ask him pointedly.

"Not your shirt," he says in a smug tone, joking, anything to make you laugh or embarrassed or both. 

There's something about the press of your lips when he teases you that drives him crazy. You burst into scandalised laughter like he'd hoped. Steve feels even more love sick than he had earlier.

“Just admit it. Brad is better looking than Leo. Accept it and let’s move on”

Seokjin x Reader (or oc)

Word count: 1.1K

a/n: I like to think that Seokjin and his partner would bicker about ridiculous topics and then lovingly give each other the silent treatment. So that’s what this is. I hope you guys enjoy! :) 

“Are you two really still doing this?” Jimin wore an annoyed expression as he stared at Seokjin.

“Yes. I’m not speaking to them until they come to their senses. Now would you please tell the love of my life the coffee is ready?” Seokjin said as he stood in front of the stove preparing breakfast.

“Oh my god,” Jimin groaned but reluctantly played along. “Y/n, Jin-hyung would like me to tell you that the coffee is ready.”

“Thanks, Jimin,” you smiled from your seat at the kitchen island just 10 feet away from them. Jimin was standing next to your boyfriend, who cleared his throat as you thanked his younger member, making you roll your eyes. “Will you tell my future husband thank you for making the coffee?”

Shaking his head, muttering an “unbelievable”, Jimin told Seokjin, “Y/n says thanks for the coffee.”

Keep reading

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Overcompensate: Moon-Jo develops a sudden infatuation with Jongwoo's girlfriend.

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Bitch Onions

TASM Peter Parker X Reader

⚠️Warnings: swearing, absolute crack⚠️

Sitting on the rooftop, you look up at the vast sky ahead of you. Your eyes making out the shapes within the clouds and your heart beating slow and steady, as calm as you could be. Things were perfect this high up, the sunset making the entire world a luminescent orange and sparkling off the glass of the city buildings below. The cars honking and the various shouts of the people below.

You were on top of the Empire State building. And next to you, was the infamous Spiderman.

Said superhero was currently devouring a chili dog.

"Could you chew quieter? I'm trying to meditate," you said, pushing your loose strands of hair away from your face and fixing the sweater adorning your shoulders. You squinted at him through warning eyes and then laid down in a similar position as before. Before you could get too comfortable, Peter slides down next to you and continues to annoy you by chewing in your ear.

"Is this any better?" He asks with a knowing grin.

"You're such an asshole." You laugh, and swat the chili dog out of his hands. It was only supposed to fall but you forgot about the fact you were up so high, and, well. Physics.

"NO!" Peter yells as he watches his delicious meal fall off the roof and down to the city below. Before you could say 'what the fuck are you doing?' he jumps off the roof after it.

"Peter?"

His image is going, going, gone. Just as you thought that you had gotten left up there, he resurfaces with his web shooters and the food in his hand.

"You made the onions fall off."