#best roll your own tobacco

[rollnwraps]

All You Need to Know About Tobacco Purchasing By-Post Experience

Convenience is one of the key benefits of buying Wholesale Tobacco by post. You can get tobacco by post and have it delivered right to your door while lounging in the luxury of your own home. This gets rid of the need to drive to a store and stand in line to buy something. By post retailers also frequently run sales and discounts that can help you save money.

[tojigasm]

i just need to be idk, babied by logan, even though he knows that twenty something isnt a baby, hes showing you how to smoke properly, your sitting on his lap and taking sips of his drink, he lets you lay your head in his lap and cuddles up to him at night with ur cheek against his stomach and he just like, takes care of you? like he pets and humours and tolerates and when ur fucking hes so caring, stroking hair and kissing ur cheeks and forehead ur honour i want him so bad

And you get it soooo fucking bad because the idea of him being so paternal with you is something that just rots me to my coreee you guys. And there's a semblance of casual dominance about it that just makes me sob.

He's in the middle of fucking you. His chest pressed to your back, his skin flush to your own as he stands curved over you on your hands and knees on his bed. He keeps an arm wrapped around your chest, keeping you upright as he rolls his hips into, pressing a long kiss to the back of your head.

You'll be at the counter in the kitchen late at night, working on whatever when he wanders into the room in a grey hoodie and sweats. He makes his way to lean against the countertop, peering over at your notes. "Y'need anything, baby?" He'll eventually ask, running his knuckles over your forearm as you continue to write. "Mm, maybe water," you say, almost jumping out of your seat before you're being pushed back into the leather cushioning of the chair. "Let me do it fr'ya, sweetheart." And you don't get your glass of water until after he's "secretly" stolen a sip. He stands next to your seat at the counter until you're all done.

He's the first time you experience smoking. The smell of tobacco is heavy in the air while he sits on the front porch of the mansion. You've always been one to try new things and Logans never been one to deny you almost anything and so of course he holds the blunt of the cigar to your soft lips and lights the tobacco while you look all pretty fr'him. Takes you a couple tries and a few lessons in watching Logan easily breathe in the smokey tar, but you catch it eventually, earning a "atta' girl." From Logan.

Has you sit in his lap during movie nights at the mansion while he nurses a bottle of Jack Daniel's. He keeps a hand wrapped around your hip and the other on the neck of the bottle. Ever so often, you'll motion towards the bottle, and Logan'll hold you by the chin and tilt the bottle to your lips only for a second before pulling it away. You try to reach for it back, and he's pushing your hand away with a "C'mon, kid, that's enough." And you better not argue, it'll start an hour long discussion on how he knows best.

Or how the two of you will be lying on the couch after finishing a movie. You're resting against his chest as he runs the tips of his fingers up and down your back softly. And he'll just start giving you quick pecks here and there over your cheeks and on the tip of your nose and your forehead and chin before pulling back to look you over. He'll soothe the palm of his hand over the soft apple of your cheek, whispering softly "Yr'my baby, huh."

[ohimsummer]

✎ . . .❝ DO YOU MIND? ❞

— minors dni, suguru x gn! reader (established rs), ft. satoru, voyeurism, oral [ m. receiving ], pining?, some stsg if you squint at the end :3, barely proofread 🫣

gojo tends to show up at the most inopportune moments.

…like now, when suguru is balls-deep in your mouth.

your boyfriend watches, utterly flabbergasted, as gojo settles into the other patio chair and then blinks at him with a casual, blue-eyed stare. it’s nonchalant, careless…as if this is all normal.

you begin to pull off of suguru’s length before he stops you with a steady hand on the crown of your head. your eyes widen, lashes fluttering for a quick second before a strange sense of normality washes over you, and your body relaxes. whatever gojo is up to, you’re confident suguru will handle him with ease, as per usual. after all, this wouldn’t be the first time his best friend has walked in on you two during activities like this, though he usually doesn’t take a seat with the apparent intent on staying throughout.

suguru takes a long, thoughtful drag of his cigarette, eyes narrowing. “…do you mind?”, he asks and quirks a brow.

gojo just smiles at him. “huh? oh, no, i don’t mind.”

a couple seconds pass and suguru has to wonder if he’s actually having this conversation. “are you actually insane—“

“god, what’s the big deal?” gojo groans, interrupting the once-hushed, midnight serenity in his typical, obtrusive fashion. shifts in his seat and suguru finally notices the bulge between his spread legs. his jaw just goes slack in utter disbelief.

suguru is not distracted for long. with a flick of your tongue, you bring forth a grunt from your boyfriend’s lips, back to bobbing along his length in a craving for his creamy release down your throat. suguru can’t and wouldn’t bring himself to stop you. the situation is far past strange but, if you’re determined to continue, and gojo being a fucking weirdo doesn’t bother you, then that’s fine by him.

he sighs. “whatever.”

not even a second passes before there’s a clink of metal, and suguru watches as gojo begins pulling his own cock from his pants.

“satoru, what in the f—“

“shhh.”, gojo hisses at him, and suguru raises two astonished brows. “i’m trying to enjoy the show.“

the dark-haired man is genuinely stunned into silence. it takes a moment before he catches his bearings, tossing gojo an unamused look and leaning back to rest in his own chair. “fine, whatever, just shut up while you do it.”

suguru rolls his eyes at gojo’s victorious grin, before pulling his dying cigarette back up to his lips and billowing out another cloud of smoke. whatever. with everything going on, it’s easy for him to block out any trace of gojo, anyway, and just focus on you.

a bold smell of tobacco wafts through the air, filling suguru’s nostrils as the nicotine finishes off any remnants of stress in his body. the sloppy, wet noises of spit and pre, of you eagerly sucking him down your throat. the curious feel of your hand massaging his balls while the other twists and jerks off whatever can’t fit in your mouth. yeah, it doesn’t take a single drop of effort for suguru to forget that his best friend is jerking off to the sight of you.

someone else is properly taking the time to admire every detail of the view before him. the moonlight rays gleaming off of you and his best friend, casting a gentle glow on the lewd scene. suguru’s head tossed back with locks of black framing his face, a red blush visible across his handsome features even with the limited lighting. and you, god, you. gojo eyes the hand on the back of your head, threading through your hair. suguru has a gentle grasp for the most part, sometimes shoving you down to his base, and gojo’s cock throbs longingly at the gags you let out before being released again. so cute, so pretty, doing your best to take his friend’s fat cock all the way in, only to come up a few inches short every time. it’s obviously a struggle, and yet you still try your best, so keen to swallow every inch. so eager to please.

globs of clear precum dribble out and over gojo’s tip, making for slippery strokes as he gives his bobbing cock a squeeze. though it’s hard, difficult, excruciating—especially with suguru’s own grunts and moans calling out into the night—gojo doesn’t want to risk interrupting this moment. it feels improper and rude, akin to shouting during a performance.

as he admires you both, gojo begins to feel this abrupt sense of jealousy. whether it comes from wanting to be in your place or suguru’s, he cannot decide.

💜: @anthoosies @staryukis @teddybeartoji @lxnarphase @satoruxx @hellkaiserinphoenix @astral-hydromancy @bookswillfindyouaway @rosso-seta @sugurubabe @soraya-daydreams @bubblez-blop @arthurschneider @venzlenes @khaothick @haruchiy0 @sillysushi @risuola @hobarihope @crocodilethesir @starlightanyaaa @reodiaries @spicana @lovley212 @katharinasdiaryy @ninikrumbs @imaniitheoneee @luvr-exe @snackeyalleyjuice @apatauaia @trafalgarrattata @sataraxia @elleflying07 @toptierbunny @purplegemadventures @whokilledvivi @getouolgy @exinqiu @flvffybunny @leilalilox @babytoshiii @idkluvv @froggkat @princ3ss-juicy @starsharkz @zzzlevislothzzz @sugu-love @peachyaone @squishies0102 @ivy-vivii @mynahx3 @ratedrrrr @ha-zel-art @hongsxn @tryn-ity @rubyredish @higuchislut @mochi-islive @shhinigamii @insanebiitch @shinninglightning

[the-californicationist]

Friday Night Magic

AO3 Link -- I'm pretty sure this was an old ask, but I don't have the original request anymore. Sorry!

Your husband of many years, John Price, has been keeping your secret: you love it when he plays doctor, giving you a happy little pill that makes you really sleepy, really fast. The best part is that you never know how you’ll be woken up. But, when he suggests that you can still play together even while he’s in the middle of hosting game night with his mates, you decide to trust in the fact that the doctor really does know best. 

TW: non-consensual sex, drugged sex, nc-somno, rape, gangbang, betrayal, anal and vaginal sex, references to past rape events

His hand was doing nothing for him, and John hadn’t drawn a usable spell in the past six turns. He was mana-screwed and bored with his lieutenant’s penchant for playing control decks. But, it was Friday, and that’s all that mattered. The tired captain always looked forward to Fridays when they were off-mission. It meant that he got to drink through his whiskey collection, smoke way too damn many cigars, and play Magic: the Gathering with his mates. All work and no play makes John a dull boy, after all. 

Friday nights also meant that you were tucked away in your room, playing with yourself while your man played cards, often overstimulating yourself to the point of tears so that when he was ready to fuck you, his cheeks pink and his breath smelling of whiskey and tobacco, he could go for hours, his fat dick drowning in the milky mess you’d made. He was like your very own sex machine, pounding away at your drooling hole, half-drunk and eager to have you in every position he could dream of. 

Sometimes, though, John’s Friday nights were extra special. Right now, he couldn’t even concentrate on the game. He just wanted to check on you to see if he was about to get a very rare kind of lucky. Fingers crossed, he excused himself from the table and padded into his bedroom, nudging the door open a crack to see where you were. 

You were laying in bed atop your plush blanket, dressed in a matching mesh set, a pale pink bra and crotchless panty, lazily touching yourself with your deft fingers and reading smut on your phone. You didn’t even remove your hand from your clit when he walked in, continuing to swirl slow circles around its sensitive head, rolling your hips just a little to help you feel the slow, delightful drag of your pleasure.  

“Hey, pretty bird,” John purred, sitting beside you, feeling the mattress sink under his weight. 

“Hey, baby. You done with your game?” You asked, peeked up over the edge of your phone before turning back to your scrolling.

“Not yet,” John leaned forward and kissed your nipple through the fabric of your bra, the thin mesh letting you feel the hot, wet whisper of his tongue.

You moaned for him, a lovely, ragged sound. It awakened something mean and primal in his chest. You pouted a bit when he pulled away, your bottom lip bulging out and showing him a small frown,

“I thought you wanted to play doctor tonight.”

Jackpot. John was a lucky man, indeed. He felt the blood from his core rush down to his prick, making his flesh instantly start to swell. He loved playing doctor. 

“We can still play,” he began to tease you, snaking his hand up your ankle and calf, his palm warming your skin. 

“Aren’t your mates still here?” You asked, a hint of scandal in your tone. 

John cocked an eyebrow, questioning your inquiry, a bit put out by your resistance,

“Don’t you wanna take your medicine, love?” His hand slipped slowly over the meat of your inner thigh, his longest fingers reaching just past the seal of your lips, barely dipping into your swollen, drooling hole, “Feels like you’ve got a fever.”

“You think so?” You smiled coyly up at him, putting down your phone and playing with your nipples in front of him, pinching and shaking them back and forth through the pink fabric. 

John nodded, “I think you should take a pill, yeah? Better nip this in the bud before you get sick, sweetheart.”

“The doctor knows best!” You winked at him and rooted around in the bottom of your beside table.

You pulled out a little purple pill bottle, tipped the lid, and placed a white tablet in his open palm. John removed his other hand from between your legs and used the fingers that had been inside of you to gently lift the pill to your lips. 

“Say ahh,” he commanded, almost all of the softness gone from his voice. 

“Ahh…” You made a long noise with your throat, tipping your head back and sticking out your tongue. When you felt the pill land in place, you flipped it under your tongue to allow it to dissolve. 

“Good girl,” John praised you, letting you suckle on his slick-covered fingers as you liked, enjoying how you were sucking him down to his knuckles as if you were practicing for his cock. Then, once the pill was gone, you released his hand and kissed his palm, the sticky sheen of your lip gloss making a little popping noise as you did. 

“Thank you, doctor. I know you’ll make me feel so much better,” you smiled, 

“I will, sweetheart. Come say goodnight to the boys.”

“Okay, but I need my robe,” you said, your voice laced with heavy apprehension. John wasn’t asking, though, and he helped you stand up from the bed, taking your phone and wrapping your silk nightgown around you, doing the bare minimum for your modesty. 

You fixed yourself in your vanity mirror and followed John out into the main room, holding the robe tight against your body as you emerged. 

“Hey, bonnie,” Soap’s face lit up, “Good to see ya.”

“You, too! Just wanted to come say good night before I went off to bed.”

“Oh, no. You gotta join us for a game, babes. It’s been too long,” Gaz chided you playfully, grabbing you by the shoulder and guiding you to the table. 

You looked up at John for help. But, he knew exactly what he was doing. He knew you only had a few more minutes before the pill would start to take effect, and he also knew that you were way too shy to tell them the truth about your naughty little habit. 

What could you say? Oh, sorry, I can’t play tonight. I took an extra-strength sleeping pill because I want my husband to fuck me while I’m helpless and knocked out cold. 

John smiled, watching you squirm and rack your brain for any and every excuse to back out,

“Oh, no, there’s no more chairs. I’ll just —“

“Si’ down,” Simon said curtly, grabbing your hip and pulling you down onto his lap, letting your legs straddle one of his huge thighs, “You can play my hand, Mrs. Price.”

The fact that your robe had ridden up your legs almost to reveal your thick asscheeks was only a secondary concern. The primary one was that your well-rubbed pussy was already leaving a damp stain on Simon’s jeans. His thigh was as hard as a stone, heavy with muscle, and he was holding your hip hard enough to keep you fully pressed to him. The only movement you could make was to grind back against him, which you had to do every time you lost your balance on his leg. 

You tried your best to pay attention to the game, but you were struggling to stay alert. The pill’s effects were making your head foggy and your eyes droop. Your fingers were too weak to hold the cards, and when they dropped from your hand, your husband’s smile turned sinister.

“Feelin’ alright there, love?” Gaz asked, a hint of teasing in his voice.

“Um…” You tried to form a sentence, but the words wouldn’t come out.

“Felt a bit under the weather earlier, wasn’t she? Took her pill, though. Makes her a bit drowsy,” Price explained, sitting next to Simon, rubbing your back, not seeming to care that his hands were shifting the collar of the robe out of place and making it hang down your shoulder, revealing the top of your sheer bra to the whole room. 

You tried to fix it, but you were slowly losing control of your arms, feeling like you were floating in a dreamy sea. 

“Dinnae fash, hen,” Johnny grinned, folding his hand on the table, “We’ll tuck you in, won’t we, lads?”

“Aye, that we will,” Simon’s voice was deep and low, spoken right into your ear. 

You looked up at John for help, realizing that he wasn’t going to save you. You thought he would scoop you up and take you back to bed, or at least make some excuse and send his men home, but no. He was letting them pull at your robe so that it hung around your waist, watching them reveal your ample tits in your see-through bra, doing nothing but looking pleased as could be. 

“John…” You slurred, feeling yourself slip away to a drugged sleep, hearing his words right before your head fell to the table in front of you,

“Sweet dreams, love.”

You were gone from the world, floating in between being awake and being asleep. And it almost seemed like you could feel yourself being fucked. The pleasure was there, and yet, you couldn’t move or scream. You couldn't open your eyes. But, John would never allow that to happen. It was just a dream, right?

When you first awoke in one of your windows of consciousness, you were still at the table, but something was… wrong. You hadn’t moved from Simon’s lap, but now, he was moving you. You were split over his cock, and he was buried, balls-deep in your pussy, fondling your breasts under your mesh bra. The others were laughing, talking, joking, carrying on their game, but their eyes leered at you like hyenas waiting their turn to sink their teeth into the neck of a caught gazelle.

“Mmngh, ungh,” you tried to speak, but you sounded drunk, “John?”

“No, princess,” Simon snarled in your ear, “Your big man’s lettin’ us jump the line, yeah? Nice of him, innit? Fuck, I love Fridays.”

“What?” You were so confused. Why was Simon talking as if this had happened before? You were so ashamed, and John was right beside you. How could he let this happen? “John… Please…”

You tried to reach out to him, but your arms only lifted to his knee, trying to grab at his shirt or hand, anything to make him help you. Simon’s dick was steadily pounding into your swollen cunt, and John was just smoking his cigar and laughing at your feeble attempts to get free. 

“Hush, now, love. Riley loves playin’ doctor, just like me. In fact, the boys have been takin’ good care of you every time they stop by, haven’t you?”

“Aye,” Johnny held his whiskey up to you as if to give you a toast, his eyes wide and full of a sick sort of hunger, “That bonnie cunt gets me through the week, lass. And ye keep it so wet for us. Such a good wee missus you’ve got, Cap’n.”

“Can’t thank you enough for the hospitality, Mrs. Price,” Gaz nodded to Soap, agreeing with his crude statement, taking another swig of his drink as his other hand moved under the table, moving rhythmically, obviously jerking himself off to the sight of you being speared on Simon’s big dick. 

Suddenly, you felt Simon’s hands grip your hips on both sides of your body, holding you down onto the base of his cock, and you knew that he was about to come. You squirmed, wishing you could muster up any kind of strength, feeling as if you were still dreaming, 

“No… No! Stop… Please… Don’t come in me…”

John cupped your cheek as his lieutenant dumped load after load of his sticky come into your body, his cock pulsing inside of you like a heartbeat, each throb of its huge shaft was another thick pool of his spend, turning your stomach and bringing desperate tears to the corners of your eyes.

“Shh, shh, shh,” John purred, “Take the medicine Riley’s givin’ you, love. It’ll make you feel so much better. You want mine next, hm? Will that make it right, pretty girl?”

“Unghhh…” You felt your body betray you, your pussy needing to come. Simon had one of his hands working quick, lurid circles around your clit, and now he was dragging you to a climactic peak, forcing you to come on his spent cock. 

As you felt yourself spin out of control, your legs began to shake, giving away your moment of pleasure to the whole table. 

“That’s a good girl,” John praised you, brushing a stray lock of hair out of your face. 

“Fuck, she’s so wet. I think she likes an audience, Cap,” Simon observed, planting sloppy kisses onto your neck as you trembled from the aftershocks of your bliss. 

They barely allowed you to cool down before John said,

“C’mere, love. My turn.”

Simon lifted you off of his lap with Price’s help, your robe fluttering to the floor. Your husband turned you on your back, laying you on the table across the cold wood and stacks of strewn playing cards. You tried to roll away, tried to sit up, but it was no use. The drugs had their hold on you, and you felt yourself fading back into a deep sleep. 

Just before the blackness took you, you saw John lining up his fat, drooling cock at your entrance, sliding his head through Riley’s come with little resistance. 

“Mmm-fuck. You’re so tight even after Riley’s prick, love. This pussy can just take so much cock, huh? Perfect girl.”

You slipped away into sleep yet again, and it seemed like you had only been out for a few minutes. You woke again in the same position, with your husband brutally pounding away at your hole, stuffing himself inside with wet, slick, slapping sounds. 

Hands were roughly groping your tits from the other side of the table, none of which belonged to your husband, and as they played with your nipples, they began to pinch and pull at them, making you cry out. 

“Look who’s awake again,” John cooed, his voice laced with farcical pity, “Don’t worry. You’ll get Johnny and Kyle soon enough.”

You couldn’t hold on. You tried to struggle against the shadowy slumber that pressed down on all your senses, but it was no use. 

When you woke up again, you were in bed. Your pillow and blanket were gone, but you recognized the soft sheets. Then, you realized you were moving. The whole mattress was shaking back and forth, and Johnny was behind you, shoving his leaking dick into your asshole. 

“Unghff-fuck! You back among the living, bonnie? Your tight little hole just grabbed me like a fuckin’ vice.”

“S-s-stop. Please…” You managed to whisper, your throat feeling sore for some reason. You tried not to think about why that would be.

“Cannae stop, lass. Your man’s dead set on findin’ the cure for what ails you, and I’m here to help. Based on how wet your wee slit has become, I think we’re on the right track.”

Just when you heard his words tease you about your wetness, you felt his fingers slip inside of your pussy, three of them, cruelly thick, following his cock’s rhythm, stretching you wider than you’d ever been in your whole life. 

You tried to cry out, to scream, to call for help, but it was no use. So, you melted into his efforts instead, feeling your muscles flutter against him, threatening to make you come from his anal sex. He didn’t seem to notice your mounting pleasure, or if he did, he didn’t much care. He just continued to thrust into your holes, slamming his stocky weight into you, making your cheek sink into the mattress as you lay face-down, ass-up for your husband’s best friend.

The last thing you heard as you fell into unconsciousness was Johnny’s moans, and his comment of surprise,

“Oh, bonnie girl. You gonna come for me? Fuck, yes…”

Your next moment of lucidity was in the living room. You were on the couch. Well, your face was laying against the crook of someone’s neck, your forehead pushing into the fabric upholstery, as you were being fucked in their lap on the sofa. You tried to lift yourself to see what was happening to you, and as you did, you saw that you were riding Simon again, straddling his legs as he fucked his cock up into your dripping hole from below. His mouth was suckling from your nipple, your bra missing, latched on and unwilling to let go, leaving little hickies behind as his teeth teased the sensitive nub. 

But, he wasn’t alone. There was… something… happening to your asshole. You craned your neck to see Kyle standing behind you, fucking his long dick into your ass as Simon pounded into you from below. 

You let out a long moan, the pleasure that you’d been receiving clearly coursing through you despite your lack of consent. You had been coming and coming and coming, and you hadn’t been awake for any of it. 

“Holy shit,” Garrick growled, his grip on your flank tightening hard enough to bruise, “She’s gonna come again. Can’t fuckin’ believe it. Feels so goddamn good.”

“Fuck,” Simon popped his mouth away from your chest to lean his head back, relaxing as he rode the waves of your impromptu orgasm, “Oh, look. She’s awake.”

Kyle’s huge hand fisted your hair and pulled you back so he could see your face,

“I dunno. I wouldn’t call that awake. How much did she take?”

“Cap gave her two more when she was with him and Soap, so we’ve got time, Sergeant. Don’t we, love?” Simon grabbed your face without care, squeezing your cheeks and making you look at him through hooded, tired eyes, “Oh, yeah, we do. All the time in the world.”

Fic #99 is in the bag... next one will be #100! Thanks to everyone for supporting me through my absolute descent into madness. lol

[wannabespacesmuggler]

D.D. | Shane's Girl [10]

Part Ten | Masterlist | Buy me a coffee | Check out the playlist

Summary: Daryl Dixon knows he shouldn’t be thinking about you when he’s alone at night in his tent. Hell, he shouldn’t even be looking at you throughout the day. You’re not his. You’re Shane’s girl. But Daryl doesn’t like the way Shane treats you. And he certainly doesn’t like how you’re forced to play ‘loving girlfriend’ to a man with eyes for another woman at the camp.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x female!Reader

Warnings: Shane Walsh is the worst, angst, canon violence, mentions of tobacco use, chapter follows “Tell it to the Frogs” but dialogue and events are paraphrased.

Word Count: 3K

Author’s Note: Me posting twice in a week? Unheard of. I've just been feeling very inspired for this story and this chapter just took on a life of it's own. I try to keep these chapter under 2,000 words, but this one is a tad longer. Hope you all enjoy! As always I would love to hear what y'all think.

After an eventful night around the campfire, you return to your empty tent. A part of you was thankful when Shane told the group that he was taking watch tonight, but another part of you recognizes that he’s simply trying to delay the inevitable. You’re just not sure you’re ready for that conversation right now. Not after the whiplash of emotions you experienced today: from the joy of one of your best friends returning from the dead to the devastation you felt for Daryl at the realization that Merle didn’t make it back from Atlanta. 

You had asked about the older Dixon’s absence during a lull in the conversation after you’d all finished dinner. Rick explained what had happened in Atlanta, and though you understood why he chose to handcuff Merle on the roof, your heart broke for Daryl. When you asked if they planned to return to the city for him, you were met by a scoff from Shane and a mumbled good riddance under his breath. His reaction made you sick to your stomach. You may not care for Merle Dixon, but Daryl does. And for all you know, he’s the only family that Daryl has left. 

The prolonged silence that ensued after your question was an answer in itself. They didn’t plan on going back for him. 

You lie down on your cot, sighing as you stare into the darkness above you. Your mind is still racing at the realization of Shane’s infidelity. You hadn’t gotten a chance to process the insinuation during the constant commotion this evening, but now that you were alone, it’s all you can think about. You roll over, closing your eyes and hoping that some sleep will give you a clearer perspective on your dilemma. But even though today took pretty much everything out of you, sleep never seemed further away. The idea of holding onto all of this alone is exhausting, but who are you supposed to talk to right now? Rick and Lori just got each other back. You barely know Glenn and Dale. And even though you’re friends with Andrea and Amy, anything told to the sisters tends to spread through the camp like wildfire. You wish Daryl was here. 

But then there’s your second problem. How do you explain to Daryl that the group left his brother in Atlanta? And how will he respond? Daryl’s just started opening up to you, and you’re depending on that budding friendship now more than ever. You’re afraid he will pull away from the group due to the betrayal. And you wouldn’t blame him — betrayal weighs heavy on your heart right now. 

You let out another sigh as you turn onto your back. You pull your thin blanket over your head, trying to physically block out the thoughts spiraling inside of your brain. In an attempt to calm yourself down, you pull Dale’s book out of your backpack and ignite your small flashlight. You open the book to where you left off, but instead of getting further into the novel, your eyes drift to the crumpled piece of paper acting as your placeholder. Finally, you drift off rereading Daryl’s hastily written note. 

When you wake, you’re met with rays of morning sunlight filtering through the flaps of your tent. You blink the grogginess out of your eyes. Even though you slept more than usual last night, your body feels like it didn’t get any rest. You gather your strength and manage to get off of your small cot, groaning as your feet connect with the ground. Hopefully, you’ll feel better once you busy yourself with something to do around camp. 

Exiting your tent, you’re met with a surprisingly empty camp. Your brow furrows as you sweep the area, but a small smile tugs at the corners of your lips as your eyes land on Rick talking to Carol by the RV. Having Rick Grimes back in your life still feels like a dream. You make your way up to the pair, and Rick glances over your way. 

“You look as tired as I feel.”

Although his words are said in a humorous tone, his eyes hold a look of genuine concern. The small smile on your face grows a bit wider at the sight. Rick Grimes isn’t your blood, but you’ve considered him your family since you befriended Lori all those years ago.

“Just a restless night, I suppose.”

You attempt to brush off the concern nonchalantly. The last thing you want to do is worry Rick as he’s settling back in with his friends and family. But even though he lets out a warm chuckle at your response, the concern etched into his features doesn’t dissipate. Rick opens his mouth to reply, but is cut off by a woman screaming. The two of you look toward where the sound is coming from, somewhere off in the surrounding woods, before looking back at each other with wide eyes.

“Lori…”

Without another word, the two of you race off into the woods with Carol not far behind. As you both get further into the forest, you begin to hear a medley of concerned voices. And finally, you find a small clearing with the entire group gathered around Sophia and Carl. Rick rushes over to his son, but your eyes are fixated on an inanimate walker lying beside a deer carcass. Your hand subconsciously lands on your hip and grabs the hilt of your hunting knife. Although it looks like some of the men handled the walker, you still have a sinking feeling in your stomach as your eyes rake over the jagged bite marks that trail down the deer’s neck. 

A rustling in the woods pulls your attention away from the carnage, and suddenly, everyone is on high alert. You watch as both Shane and Rick get in front of Lori and Carl, shielding them with their bodies as they draw their guns up toward the sound. Your tense shoulders relax, and a relieved sigh escapes your lips as Daryl appears from the dense forest brush. Everyone drops their weapons as Daryl raises his hands. Shane groans as he spots a handful of squirrels that Daryl has tied onto a rope in his left hand. Daryl glares at Shane for a second before his eyes land on the mangled deer lying on the forest floor.

“Son of a bitch!”

Daryl approaches the deer, angrily muttering about how he’d been tracking it for miles. He kicks the deer in frustration and drops to a knee to assess the damage the walker has done. 

“I was gonna drag it back to camp — cook us all up some venison. What do you think? Think we could cut around the chewed-up parts?”

Daryl’s proposal earns him several disgusted groans, and Shane responds. 

“I wouldn’t risk it, man.”

Daryl sighs disappointedly before standing up from the deer. He wipes off his hands on the front of his jeans. His eyes harden slightly as he looks over at Shane. 

“That’s a damn shame. Got some squirrel though — that’ll have to make due.”

From behind him, the walker begins groaning and Daryl rolls his eyes as multiple people cry out in horror. In one swift motion he swings his crossbow from behind his back and shoots the walker square between the eyes. Daryl’s eyes scan the small crowd that has gathered around all of the commotion. His posture relaxes ever-so-slightly as his eyes meet yours. He gives you a subtle nod — a small gesture you’ve grown accustomed to. Instead of nodding back, you drop your eyes to the ground. You’re not quite sure how to face him right now — overwhelmed by a mix of embarrassment over your current predicament with Shane and guilt that you didn’t go to Atlanta after learning about Merle. Realistically, you know that there’s no way that you could go on a lone rescue mission to the city to save Merle, but you still feel like you should have done something. 

Daryl’s brow furrows, and his heart clenches at your reaction. What happened while he was gone? Daryl looks around and suddenly realizes that everyone in camp is staring at him with a disheartened expression — everyone except Merle. His eyes quickly scan the group once more before he starts making his way toward their shared tent. Everyone moves to follow him. 

“Merle! Merle, where you at?”

You move to step forward. If anyone was going to break the news about his brother, it should be someone who cares about him. But before you can speak, Shane pushes you behind him and takes the lead.

“Daryl, just slow up a bit. We need to talk to you about Merle. There was a problem in Atlanta.”

Daryl chews on his bottom lip for a second before responding. 

“He dead?”

Your heart breaks as you watch Daryl’s expression drop.

“We’re not sure.”

Daryl’s face hardens at Shane’s answer. 

“He either is or he ain’t!”

Rick puts a hand on Shane’s shoulder before things get too heated between the two hot-headed men. As Daryl’s gaze shifts from Shane to Rick and his eyes narrow. 

“Who the hell are you?”

“Rick Grimes.”

Recognition flashes in Daryl’s eyes as the name immediately reminds him of the numerous stories you’ve told him about the man you consider a brother. His gaze flickers to you briefly before shifting back to Rick. For your sake, he pushes his anger aside for a moment and chooses to listen to Rick. You watch intently as Rick explains the events that happened in Atlanta. Daryl’s nostrils flare, and his grip tightens around the squirrels he’s holding. 

“You’re tellin’ me that you handcuffed my brother on top of a roof and left him there?”

“Yeah.”

And then all hell breaks loose. Daryl throws the bundle of squirrels at Rick, causing Shane to launch himself at Daryl. You rush forward as Shane tackles Daryl to the floor. You’re yelling at Shane — begging him to get off of Daryl. As you attempt to pull Shane off of him, Shane reaches back and pushes you off of him. Daryl yells as you hit the ground hard. Rick helps you up, and there’s a collective gasp as Daryl, who has managed to get out of Shane’s hold, pulls out his hunting knife. 

“Stop it!”

You step in between the two men — back to Shane. Daryl’s chest heaves from the physical activity, and his eyes don’t leave the man behind you. 

“Daryl.”

Finally, his eyes meet yours, and his face softens ever-so-slightly. He sighs before dropping the knife. You nod at him approvingly before turning to look at Shane. Although Daryl seems to have settled down, Shane is still fuming. His gaze is like daggers as he continues to stare at Daryl. T-Dog steps forward to diffuse the situation. 

“I dropped the key, but I locked the door. Nothing should be able to get in there — we just have to go back.”

You hear Daryl grunt from behind you. As you turn to face him, he’s chewing on his bottom lip again. You can practically see the gears turning his head. 

“Just tell me where he is so I can go get him.”

“I’ll go back with you.”

Lori clenches her jaw at Rick’s words, obviously upset by her husband’s decision. T-Dog nods at Rick’s words before stating he’ll join them. Shane mutters a string of expletives under his breath as Rick glances around the group. His eyes land on Glenn, and he shifts his feet nervously.

“Really, man?”

“You know the city better than anybody. It’d make me feel safer knowing you’re there with me.”

Glenn hesitates for a moment before nodding. Rick gives him a small smile, and Shane lets out an exasperated sigh.

“So that’s your big plan, man? You, T-Dog, Glenn, and Daryl?”

“And me.”

Suddenly, everyone’s eyes land on you. Shane’s expression hardens as his eyes meet yours. His gaze is ice cold, but you don’t back down. 

“The hell you are!”

“I’m going, Shane.”

Shane huffs before taking several steps toward you.

“Are you outta your goddamn mind? This is Merle Dixon we’re talking about.”

You glance back over your shoulder at Daryl who is nervously shifting from one foot to the other. He’s watching the interaction attentively. Just like always, he’s prepared to step in if Shane loses his cool.

“He’s still human, Shane. He deserves better than to die handcuffed on top of a roof like a rabid animal.”

Shane’s expression tightens as his gaze briefly shifts between you and Daryl. His gaze eventually focuses back on you and his eyes narrow. 

“You’re really gonna do this for him?”

He juts his chin towards Daryl, and you let out a dry laugh due to the absurdity of this conversation. Everyone’s watching the stand-off between you and Shane intently — you’d be embarrassed by the attention if you weren’t so angry. 

“This doesn’t have anything to do with him, alright? It’s about doing the right thing.”

Shane takes another menacing step forward. You know what he’s doing — he’s trying to intimidate you into submission, but you’re done with this. He squares his shoulders as he towers over you, but instead of cowering, you stand your ground.

“That’s bullshit. If you leave with them, we’re done.”

His voice is seething. He’s desperately trying to regain control of the situation — the ultimatum is proof of that.

“We’ve been done, Shane.”

You turn to leave the conversation, but Shane reaches out and grabs your wrist. The grip he has on you is bone-breaking, and you let out a surprised yelp as he pulls you back towards him. Immediately, Daryl springs into action. A low, threatening growl rumbles in his throat as he moves toward you.

“Don’t fucking touch her.”

Shane’s grip tightens at Daryl’s warning. You squirm due to the pain shooting up your arm. You desperately try to wriggle out of Shane’s grasp, but it’s too tight.

“Stay out of this. She isn’t yours.”

“Are you deaf? She ain’t yours either.”

Before Shane can react, Rick grabs his shoulder. He looks at you and Shane with wide eyes, obviously confused about what has happened between you both during his absence.

“Brother, what are you doing?”

Finally, Shane releases his grip, and you immediately backstep away from him. Daryl places a gentle hand on your shoulder and moves you further away from Shane. Rick’s brow furrows in confusion as he watches Daryl precautiously step in front of you. He’s obviously missing something here. The last time he saw you both — before the accident, before the coma — you were laughing with each other during dinner at Rick and Lori’s. He remembers your joy. But now you’re looking at his best friend with nothing but discontent. And Daryl, the man that Shane warned Rick about last night, is the one protecting you from a man you shouldn’t fear. Rick shakes his head before addressing the rest of the group. 

“Alright everyone, the show’s over. Let’s all cool off for a bit, okay?”

The group begins to wander off in different directions. But Daryl and Shane continue to stare each other down until Rick grabs Shane’s shoulder again.

“Shane, let’s go.”

It sounds more like a warning than a suggestion. Finally, Shane tears his eyes away from Daryl and stomps into camp. Rick gives you one last apologetic look before following after his best friend. You let out a sigh of relief and let your shoulders drop as the tense encounter finally ends. Daryl turns to face you, and his eyes immediately drop to your wrist, which is already beginning to bruise.

“You ‘lright?”

You nod wordlessly, still overwhelmed by everything that just happened. Daryl moves you back toward a fallen log to sit you down before he cautiously grabs your wrist. You’re so far away right now you don’t even respond to the touch. He drops down on one knee and gently assesses the damage that Shane caused, making sure nothing’s broken. Once Daryl is content with his assessment, he meets your eyes. His expression is brimming with worry as he searches your face. 

“You sure you’re ‘lright?”

Finally, you meet his eyes, and Daryl’s heart breaks at the sight of your broken appearance. He’s overwhelmed by his need to protect you — a feeling that’s becoming increasingly common for him as he spends more time with you. This time, you simply shake your head. Honestly, you have no idea what you feel right now. 

Daryl nods and takes a seat beside you. He feels like a fucking idiot. He never should have left you here for so long — not after everything you told him about Shane, everything he’s observed over the weeks you’ve spent in camp together. Before he can kick himself further, you speak again.

“It’s over, right?”

Daryl looks at you softly and nods.

“It’s over.”

“But he’s still…”

“You ain’t gotta worry about him anymore. I promise you, I ain’t gonna let him do anything to you. Not anymore.”

You’re overwhelmed by the sincerity in his tone and the devotion in his eyes. He promises to protect you like he’s taking an oath. And for the first time since he left on his hunting trip, you feel safe. You nod, honestly believing that Daryl would put himself in harms way for your own well-being. Hell, he already did. You lean back against the fallen log and Daryl reaches into his pocket before wordlessly offering you a cigarette. A warm laugh bubbles in your chest at the gesture and Daryl wishes he could record the sound. You take the cigarette and give him a small smile.

“You’re a bad influence, Dixon.”

A smirk pulls at the corner of Daryl’s lips as he hands you a lighter. You take it graciously and Daryl watches you light the cigarette between your lips. You hand the lighter back to him before taking a long drag.

Goddamn.

He always thought those cowboy killers would kill one day — but he was wrong. You’re going to be the death of him and he’s okay with that. Because he can’t think of a more wonderful way to go.

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[chibinasuu]

Sanji x Reader ― baking; sweater

part of the cozy holidays event

🎁 ― anonymous tags: sfw, pure fluff, GN!reader, no use of y/n

Your thin silk pajamas did nothing to shield you from a draft of cold air that made its way into your bedroom, making you shiver as you pulled the blanket tighter around you. 

After a bit of mental preparation to brace for the cold, you threw the blanket away, got out of bed, and quickly pulled on the thick blue sweater that was draped over the chaise at the side of the bed. You inhaled the familiar scent of a masculine, musky cologne infused into the garment – tinged with a hint of tobacco – and smiled. You had your own collection of sweaters, of course, but none were as comfy as his. 

You leisurely made your way to where you knew Sanji was.

He had woken up early this morning, kissing your forehead sweetly before he got out of bed, whilst you opted to sleep in for a while longer, still worn out from the party that the crew had thrown you the night before.

As you leaned against the doorway to the kitchen, you saw that Sanji had not only been busy with preparing breakfast for the crew. Every inch of the room was now also decked in winter decorations – boughs of holly, tinsel, fairy lights, you name it. Chopper had introduced the crew to Drum Kingdom holiday traditions way back when, and it had since become a beloved annual event onboard the Sunny. 

It also seemed that the festivities did not stop at the decor, as the air was filled with the warm aroma of ginger, cinnamon, and clove. 

You silently watched your husband as he rolled out some dough on the flour-dusted counter. 

It still felt surreal, to refer to Sanji as your husband.

Your lips involuntarily turned up at the memory of yesterday. Your and Sanji’s wedding was a small affair on the deck of the Thousand Sunny. You had exchanged rings to the beautiful melodies of Brook’s violin, then your Captain excitedly pronounced you officially wed, with only the crew as your witnesses. Sanji had had to prepare his own wedding cake and feast, but he did it happily. He would never trust anyone else on the ship to do it anyway – everything needed to be perfect for the special day. After dinner, Sanji carried you through the threshold of your brand new quarters – some unused storage space that Franky magically transformed into a beautiful honeymoon suite – everyone cheered, and then you all partied and drank away the Sunny’s entire supply of alcohol. 

It was the best night of your life. 

Sanji was carefully cutting out the cookie dough into the shape of little people when you called out teasingly, “Good morning, my dear husband.” 

Your new title for him, combined with the sight of you in his sweater, was apparently too much for Sanji to handle. Blood gushed from his nose and you laughed as he desperately reached into his pocket, pulling out a handkerchief to staunch the bleeding before any drop could contaminate his dough. 

You loved how you could still affect him so, even after years of being together. 

You helped Sanji arrange the little gingerbread men on the baking tray as he quickly prepared the frosting. Once the cookies were in the oven, Sanji picked you up and placed you on the cleared countertop, positioning himself in between your legs. Finally having a moment of respite in his busy morning, he took the time to languidly gaze at you, his blue eyes overwhelmingly full of love, “Hi.”

You couldn’t stop the giggle from escaping your mouth as a surge of happiness washed over you, “Hi.”

Sanji took hold of your left hand, admiring the thin silver band around your ring finger, before lifting it to his lips, “I still can’t believe you’re officially mine.”

You smiled and threaded the fingers of your other hand through his soft blond hair, “And you’ll have me for the rest of our lives.” 

You sighed blissfully as Sanji showered you with lazy kisses – on your hand, and your forehead, then your cheek, down to your waiting lips. He hooked his index and middle fingers into the collar of your – well, his – sweater, pulling it down to expose your neck before leaving kisses there too. His lips were traversing upward to your ear when the shrill ring of the timer interrupted him. 

Not wanting the cookies to burn, he reluctantly stepped away from you with a smile and took out the tray from the oven. 

After the cookies had cooled down, Sanji snapped off an arm of one of the gingerbread men, and fed it to you, “How does it taste, darling?”

“Perfect, as always.”

You and Sanji stood side by side, decorating the freshly baked goods with colorful frosting. You drew curly eyebrows on one of the little people-shaped cookies, and a vertical line across the left eye of another. Sanji frosted a long nose onto one, and an x-shaped mark on the chest of the next one. 

The room was filled with the echoes of your laughter as the two of you competed on who could draw the most realistic-looking gingerbread skeleton. 

And you thought to yourself, it really couldn’t get any better than this.

a/n: is this the most tooth-rotting fluff i have ever written?? probably!

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[munson-blurbs]

Eddie Munson x Reader (hurt/no comfort)

Summary: While visiting your friend from college, you meet her neighbor across the hall and begin a fling with him. But how long can these good times last?

WC: 2.3k

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), handjob, oral (m! receiving), unprotected p in v, hurt/no comfort, cheating, mention of weight shaming (not towards Reader)

A/N: y'all asked for it and I have delivered. Sorry, there won't be a part 2 fix-it because I like to put the "hurt" in "hurt/no comfort."

--

Hawkins, Indiana didn’t have too much to offer. It was a tiny blip on a map that you could drive through and barely notice if you weren’t paying close attention. 

It also happened to be the hometown of your best friend from college. You and Nancy became fast friends after you both got lost on your first day at Emerson. It turned out that you were going to the same class, and the room number had been a misprint that led to a nonexistent room. 

Now, fresh on the heels of graduation, Nancy had secured a full-time position at the Hawkins Post and just moved into her own apartment. It gave you the perfect excuse to spend a few days crashing at her place like you’d never left the dorms. 

At least, that had been the original plan, until Nancy got a call about a biohazard leak from Hawkins Lab that had begun infiltrating an area affectionately dubbed “Lovers Lake,” which could be her first big story if she played her cards right. Why a miniscule town had a whole lab, you had no idea. What you did know was that you would be spending most of your time here by yourself, rather than with Nancy. 

Long days alone left you bored, occasionally working on the draft of your novel. While Nancy took to the structure of journalism, you preferred creative writing. She was the logician to your dreamer. Sometimes you loved that about her; other times, her straightforward line of thinking was the bane of your existence. 

Words swam on the page as you scanned each line, adding details and crossing out any superfluous information that added nothing to the plot. You pinched the bridge of your nose and massaged it, hoping to settle your vision enough to keep editing. 

Knock knock knock. 

“Wheeler, you in there?”

A man’s voice drifted from the other side of the door. Nancy had briefly mentioned knowing some of her neighbors, but you had never actually met them. 

“Wheeler?”

You padded over to the door. When you peered through the peephole, you saw the fish-eye version of a man. You first noticed his frizzy curls escaping the rubberband attempting to hold back his hair—well, that and his biceps, fully on display in his black tank top. 

Opening the door, you willed yourself to keep your composure.  

His brown eyes widened and his full lips turned upwards into a small smile. “You’re not Wheeler.”

“What gave it away?”

The man leaned one muscular arm against the doorframe. He smelled of tobacco and cologne. “Cute and sarcastic. A winning combination.” His smirk nearly brought you to your knees. “I ran out of paper towels and figured Wheeler probably keeps ‘em stockpiled. She has that ‘doomsday prepper’ energy.”

You laughed, crossing your arms as you let your eyes meet his. How did Nancy live in the same building as this guy and not constantly jump his bones? “I think she’d prefer to call it ‘emergency preparedness.’”

“Tomato, to-mah-to.” His gaze flicked over to the roll of paper towels Nancy kept by the sink. “May I?”

Nodding, you stepped aside to let him in. “I’m Eddie, by the way,” he said over his shoulder.

You introduced yourself with as much confidence as you could muster. “I’m supposed to be visiting Nancy for the week, but she’s been at work twenty-four seven.” 

Eddie’s ears pricked at the information. “I live across the hall in 6B if you ever need anything. Snacks, music recommendations, someone to keep you entertained since Wheeler selfishly ditched you.” His eyes twinkled at the joke, but there was a mischievous air in his tone. An insinuation of the type of entertainment he might provide. 

It wasn’t until the next day that you took Eddie up on his offer, knocking on his door three times. Your heart pounded in your chest the moment you heard him slide the chain lock off of its track, its beating surely still audible even as he cracked open the metal door. 

“Well, look who it is.” An unlit cigarette dangled between his lips and he’d pulled his curls back into a bun at the nape of his neck. “How can I be of service, sweetheart?”

“I was hoping we could hang out?” You winced at the inflection that made your statement into a question. 

Eddie cocked his head in contemplation. “Yeah?” He chuckled and shoved the cigarette back into its pack. “All right. Let’s go to yours then.”

His fingers brushed against the small of your back as you led him to Nancy’s apartment. Your pulse thrummed in your ears. Were you really doing this? Were you really inviting a stranger over to hang out?

This was a bad idea. This was such a bad idea—

“Does Wheeler have a guest room? Or does she make you crash on the couch?”

Shaking off your nerves, you summoned a smile. “No guest room, unfortunately.”

“Such a shame.” Eddie clicked his tongue. “Was hoping for a little privacy.” Head tilted to the side, his gaze devoured you whole. 

“I mean…” You wracked your brain for a solution. “We could just talk. Get to know each other.”

He exhaled, his breath laced with frustration. “Sweetheart, we only have a week. Six days now, actually, and then you go back home. ‘S not a lot of time.”

With that, Eddie stepped forward and placed a gentle kiss on your neck, letting his lips linger for a moment as he whispered, “is this okay?”

“Mhm.” Your hands readily found his waist, fingertips digging into the skin as you pulled him in closer. Hardness pressed against the fly of his jeans, and you could feel it even through the thick fabric. 

“Gotta admit, sweetheart,” Eddie tugged your shirt up over your head and tossed it aside haphazardly. “I was thinking about you when you knocked. Was about to take matters into my own hands.” 

He grinned at the double entendre, one hand snaking to your back to unhook your bra. “Goddamn.” He positioned his lips around one nipple, then the other, sucking until they were pert and sensitive. 

Desire pooled between your thighs and a whimper escaped you, your breath hitching as you tried to regain some semblance of control. No one had ever made you feel so wanted, so needed, with only a few kisses. 

“‘S a pretty noise,” Eddie mumbled. He unbuttoned your jeans with the dexterity of a musician, and you wondered if he played any instruments. 

You didn’t know a lot about him: his job, his hobbies, his favorite color. There was no time to consider that now, not while he had sat himself on the sofa and was already unbuckling his own belt. 

Eddie pulled his pants and boxers just low enough to free his erection, the head of his cock already slick with pre-cum. He leaned his head back, his hand reaching out to yours. 

Naively, you threaded your fingers with his, like it was some intimate gesture. Embarrassment flooded your bloodstream when Eddie laughed under his breath and wrapped your hand around his length. 

“There ya go, sweetheart.” He inhaled sharply as you moved your hand up and down. 

You worked him, swiping your thumb over the tip and feeling him shudder at your touch. Each reaction grew your confidence until you were straddling him, the thin fabric of your panties serving as the only barrier between the two of you. 

Eddie’s palm pressed against the back of your head, a wordless plea for you to use your mouth. You obliged, pulling his pants down to his ankles and trying not to outwardly wince when your knees dug into the thin carpet.

You relished the sound of each moan that you drew from him, knowing that you were making him feel that way. Your lips wrapped around the head, tongue swirling around it to further heighten his sensitivity. One hand cupped his balls, carefully kneading them in the same rhythm that your mouth took with his shaft. 

As if on instinct, he pushed your head farther down his shaft. You weren’t expecting it, tears pricking at your eyes as you coughed around him. 

“Shit, sorry.” Eddie let go of you so you could readjust. You were all too grateful that he didn’t turn the moment into a chance to pity you, saving you from further humiliation. 

Wordlessly, you went back to sucking him off. His thighs trembled; for a moment, you expected to feel him spilling onto your tongue. But Eddie only pulled back, his finger wiping away the saliva that dribbled from the corner of your mouth. 

“Ride me.” He patted his lap, eyes shining as you obeyed without hesitation. “Fuck, wish you were gonna be around longer. I could get used to this.”

Eddie watched you as you sank down, taking him inch by glorious inch until you were full of him. Your own gaze stayed fixed on his lips, so plush and begging to be kissed. 

You let lust guide you. Despite an initial shock, Eddie parted your lips with his tongue until your shuddering breath mixed with his. Had no one ever kissed him with such passion? Had no one ever shown him how wanted he was? Is that why he had seemed so surprised when you displayed that kind of intimacy?

There was no time to further ponder these notions, not when he gripped your ass and bucked his hips upward. Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. He was so good, it was too easy for all of your thoughts to only focus on him. The way his mouth tasted of tobacco, the way he held you like he couldn’t bear to let you go, the way each thrust filled you deliciously…

“You close?”

Were you? Not really; it had been just a few minutes, but you didn’t want to hurt his feelings. Men got insecure if they finished before their partner, especially someone new. 

So you just nodded, your eyes locking onto him in hopes he’d believe the lie. Eddie didn’t meet your look; he leaned forward and dug his teeth into your shoulder as he came.

“Oh, God. Fucking Christ–holy shit.”

Giddiness and a twinge of pride fluttered within you, almost as good as an orgasm itself. Maybe you’d get yours next time.

As though reading your mind, Eddie tucked his forefinger under your chin and his thumb atop it. “We should do this again sometime.”

 And so you did. Every day that week while Nancy was at work, Eddie came over to her apartment. The couch became your sex spot, so much that you joked about Eddie’s ass leaving an imprint in the fabric. 

“Maybe we could go to your place?” You suggested on Thursday when Eddie practically mauled you the moment he stepped through the doorway.

He just shook his head. “Nah. I wouldn’t want you to see all of my shit, sweetheart.”

You didn’t even want to imagine the bachelor pad that you might find across the hall, empty pizza boxes cluttering the trash can, beer bottles strewn everywhere, ashtrays full of cigarette butts. 

You did find out a little more about Eddie: He worked nights at the plant, which was why he was home during the day. He played guitar and sang lead vocals in his band, Corroded Coffin. And once you moved his hand down to your clit, he could definitely make you come.

That Friday, before Eddie pulled out, he ran his thumb along your lower lip.

“Wish you didn’t have to leave tomorrow morning,” he murmured. “If you were sticking around, I might have had to ask you on a date.”

It was almost enough. The thought of being a real couple, someday even making love instead of simply having sex, brought a smile to your face. Maybe you could make these visits to Nancy more often than you’d originally anticipated.

You decided it must be fate when rain poured down in sheets and lightning zigzagged across the sky, delaying your flight for twelve hours. The cab driver crawled at a snail’s pace as he drove you back to Nancy’s, and you kept reminding yourself that he was doing it for your safety. 

Eddie would be so excited to have another day with you. Another afternoon to spend together, to draw pleasure from one another…possibly even discuss the potential of a long-distance relationship.

Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

His name echoed with each step you took up the stairwell. You would just knock on his door, fling yourself into his arms, and–

“Hey, babe. Looks like you made it back just in time.”

Eddie. 

Your stomach was a leaden weight when you reached the sixth floor and saw Eddie taking a suitcase from a blonde woman and kissing her until her baby pink lipstick smudged on his mouth. And if that wasn’t enough, there was a thin gold band on his ring finger that hadn’t been there the whole week.

“I would’ve walked if it meant getting home,” the woman said softly. “My mom is still awful, by the way. She kept asking if I was pregnant because, and I quote, ‘you look like you’ve been gaining weight, Chrissy.’”

There was no hiding the smirk on Eddie’s face. “We could make it happen, if you want.”

Chrissy swatted at him and walked into the apartment, and then it was just you and Eddie.

“You’re married.”

You barely recognized your own voice, thick with tears that you were willing back until you were alone. 

Surprise flashed across his face for only a second before he composed himself. He looked right through you, mumbling sorry under his breath as he tugged his wife’s–his wife’s–luggage over the threshold and disappeared to be with her.

--

[namedaftercommunists]

'Meant to be' Daisuke (Mouthwashing) X Reader -OneShot

[Story takes place before Daisuke boards the Tulpa] [Fluff] [Romantic] [Gender Neutral Reader] It’s chilly out, and the menthol cigarettes you’re puffing on only add to it.

Ice fills and drains out your lungs with every inhale and exhale you make, and the smoke you make reeks of tobacco –a scent you hate, but admittedly, find comfort in. It hits your face when the wind picks up.

Now your clothes smell of tobacco.

“Stop that.” A familiar voice half-heartedly scolds before a hand from behind takes the cancer stick away from your mouth before extinguishing it with the heel of his worn Converse. The once-white soles are now yellowish with time and weather exposure.

“I hate when you do that.” You groan out -but your tone lacks venom. “-and I hate when -you- do that.” Daisuke says with a sigh before sitting next to you on the concrete rooftop.

He puts his hands out to you wordlessly, and you take out the small spray of antiseptic alcohol on your pocket to spray some on his hands. He never liked the smell of cigarettes, both of you know his parents would flip if he ever came home smelling like tobacco.

“I can’t help it.” You lazily defend yourself as you pocket the spray back. “It helps me keep my mind off things.” You add, despite Daisuke having heard this excuse time and time again since you started smoking years ago.

He rolls his eyes at this but doesn’t continue his nagging after. He knows you won't ever quit, not even with his constant lecture and reprimands. The best he can do is snuff out the cigarettes you light when you two are together.

“Your dad called.” Daisuke starts, and you already know that your father is calling for your whereabouts. You can only sigh and slump your shoulders at this.

“-and what did you say?” You ask, still looking at the city ‘view’. It’s a dilapidated thing, city walls covered in aging -sunbleached posters and tarpaulins that just get pasted and installed over one another since it was cheaper than taking the previous ones down.

It’s a view both Daisuke and you have watched grow and age while growing up.

“The usual. 'I don’t know’” He says with a shrug. “-and like always, he doesn’t believe me.” He continues.

“I don’t know why he bothers asking me. I give the same answer, you know?” Daisuke says with a chuckle, and you can only return it -the two of you never went a day without laughing together.

“You cave in sometimes.” You say, and he can only sheepishly nod at this. “I do- but that’s only, like, when I don’t ‘actually’ know where you are,” He says before awkwardly tucking a lock of his hair behind his ear to see you better. "Can you blame me for getting worried?" He rhetorically asks, and you're unable to talk back to that. Your nightly escapades are only a cause for concern when Daisuke doesn't know where you are.

“So what’s the matter?” He asks with a tilt of his head, referring to why you are up on the rooftops again. You respond with a shrug, which he sighs at.

“C’mon, what’s wrong?” He asks, leaning on your side and playfully nudging his shoulder on yours to get you to budge. You can only chuckle at his intrinsic nature to act childishly.

“Nothings wrong.” You answer, nudging his shoulder back. “I’m just –thinking about things.” You answer truthfully.

“Things like?” He asks, wanting you to expand on that. “I don’t know -just things in general.” You respond with an unsure shrug.

There’s a short silence between you two, with only the city ambiance filling the space before Daisuke inevitably breaks it.

“Are you moping because I’ll be going on that internship in a few days?” He asks somewhat jokingly with a boyish -teasing grin.

You can only scoff and roll your eyes at this. “Not everything is about you, loser.” You say with your own grin -your mood lightening up a bit.

“So you’re -not- sad about me leaving you for a year?” He asks with a raised brow, nudging your side with his elbow a bit. “I mean --I'm bummed out.” You downplay, making him dramatically pout.

“That’s it? Just bummed out?” He repeats with an unserious frown. “I was expecting, you know, tears in your eyes -or something.”

You let out another scoff at this. “I don't see -you- crying. Why should I when you aren't either.” You point out with a dramatic puff of your chest -making Daisuke laugh.

“You don't know that. Maybe I already cried.” He argues, still chuckling at your matched dramatism.

“Did you?” You ask with a curious brow -a bit taken aback.

“No.” He responds with a Cheshire laugh, and you roll your eyes at this again.

“Thought so.” You jokingly grumble before looking away from him -feigning hurt. He only laughs at this some more.

He takes a few moments to calm down, his laughter fading as his demeanor softens and he leans on your side some more.

“But I am sad,” Daisuke admits, his voice just barely above the sound of the city ambiance below you two.

“…”

You don’t know how to respond to this -looking back at him as he rests his head on your shoulder, leaning down a bit since he's just grown a few inches taller than you over the years.

“Aren't you?” He asks, looking up at you, his hair tickling at the skin of your neck. His voice is soft, and it's one of the few times you've heard him be -this- vulnerable with you.

“I am.” You answer truthfully, your shoulders slumping a bit.

You were sad -from the moment he told you about the internship even. It's a whole year apart without the person you've been joined at the hip with for more than a decade now.

It's terrifying and outright depressing just imagining going a day without seeing, talking, joking, and laughing with him.

-to not share these moments with him.

Your hand snakes its way to his, thumbing the bone of his knuckles, and your skin feels the warmth of his.

Daisuke was always warmer than the average person. It's a welcome contrast to how cold the city air was.

He holds your hand back, squeezing it for a moment.

“I'll think about you, like, all the time.” He says, and you can only snort at this a bit.

“You're corny.” You comment, and he can only childishly pout at this. “I'll think about you too.” You continue, your own voice growing softer as you look into his familiar, warm brown eyes.

“Thanks.” He says with a boyish grin, also looking into your eyes.

There's another comfortable silence between you two before he breaks it again.

“You wanna go buy ramen when I get back?” Daisuke asks, and you snort at this once more, tears pricking at your eyes from laughter as he continues to look at you with endearment.

“You didn't even go to space yet -and you're already making plans for when you get back?” You teasingly ask, and he can only laugh at this.

“Well I'm coming back, aren't I? Like, where would I go if not back here?” He argues back with a grin.

“You've got a point.” You say with a nod -following his logic.

“You gotta pay though -it's the least you could do after leaving me here.” You say, with feigned bitterness for his internship. You don't actually envy him, the thought of being in space already makes you nauseous.

“Fair -fair.” He says with a dramatic nod of understanding -the two of you chuckling right after.

You two calm down a few moments later, still smiling at one another, grinning ear to ear. Daisuke's cheeks were red, and your ears were burning the same color.

“I can't wait for you to get back.” You softly say, squeezing his hand. He mimics the action back.

“I can't wait either.” He says it back with the same softness.

It's funny. The city was far from quiet, and yet it felt as if there wasn't anything in the air other than the sound of both of your breaths. Your faces are just inches off of each other.

You always did find his moles pretty. . . . His cheek feels soft on your lips before you inevitably pull away.

There isn't any shock in Daisuke's expression, nor disgust or confusion. Your kiss on his cheek, just on his left mole, felt natural.

Like you were almost meant to place a kiss on it, to kiss his cheek, to kiss him.

Despite it feeling natural, he couldn’t help the rushing of blood to his cheeks, his face flushed.

A few moments pass before it’s his turn to close the gap, the heat of his breath hitting your cheek before his lips then press themselves against yours.

Like Daisuke, you can’t help the blood rushing to your head, the tips of your ears burning hot.

They’re soft. His lips are soft. As expected from someone who carries around a stick of chapstick in his pocket.

It's a simple peck to the lips, nothing more.

It…doesn’t feel like anything- at least not at first.

You’ve kissed others before, same for Daisuke, and like all others -there was no spark or fireworks in your gut afterward.

No. Instead of the usual burning or butterflies in the stomach that films and books always seem to insist upon -this kiss with Daisuke feels…normal.

Like your lips were always meant to be pressed together like this.

He pulls away after, and the two of you just sit in silence at this, looking into each other’s eyes. You two were neither pulling away nor moving closer.

His lashes are long and pretty, it’s an aspect of his that you’ve noticed early on in your youth.

This feels right -just being next to each other like this. With you eyeing every feature, crevice, and fold in his appearance.

Simply drinking the sight in -as if his face wasn’t something you saw daily for as long as you can remember.

Judging from how he’s looking at you, he may be doing the same.

You’ve both grown and changed over the years, yet, you still look like each other.

Daisuke, even with his taller height, the bit of muscle he’s put on, and the longer hair -still looked like the young Daisuke who ran around the classroom with playdough underneath his fingernails, and who boastfully sported the failed eyebrow slit he gave himself.

“I really like your nose. Did you know that?” He says.

The timing is awkward, and you can hear the slight shakiness in his voice despite his soft tone -like he was nervous. Despite this though, his sincerity comes across -it always does.

Your lips are on his again.

It doesn’t go further than that, but when either of you pant and pull away, the other is quick to join their lips again once they’ve caught their breath.

It’s warm despite the chilly night wind that pricks at both Daisuke's and your skin.

You squeeze his hand.

You can’t wait to spend more moments like these after he gets back.

[who-knew-a-sheep-can-write]

Werewolf!Logan Howlett x Reader Headcanons

I'm such a slut for Hugh Jackman let alone daddy wolverine >:)

🌙 He was bitten in a freak accident decades ago. He was sure his own mutation would save his hide like it had done many times before, and it seemingly did at first until the full moon reared its ugly head. He lost complete and total control.

🌙 Ever since then, he's been confinded to be locked up wherever and wherever possible, most of the time being beneath the school's grounds heavily monitored by his fellow professors during the full moons. His temper can easily get out of control, often spending the entire day down there preparing for the night.

🌙 His temper before was already bad, but now? It's gotten worse from the change and it only gets worse as the full moon draws near. He doesn't mean to get angry, he really doesn't. The whole bad guy schtick sometimes bothers him when he's deep in it. He's not really a monster, is he? People sure as hell look at him to be one.

🌙 Barely anyone else knows besides his fellow professors. None of the students know for sure, only knowing about his mutation and not his curse that Charles slaves over to find the cure to. He doesn't know how to feel about it still after decades of being like this, and he's not ready to find out. The world persecutes them all already for being mutants, they all won't be as friendly towards monsters now too.

🌙 And then you came along, and Logan's never been the same. Things started out prickly between you both, or at least that's how he wanted things to be. He was his usual "charming" self towards you, but you saw right through his sarcastic and gruff antics despite your professor being more prickly than a porcupine.

🌙 Your scent was the one thing that clung to his mind the most, cutting in deep and latching on to his brain. He could smell you all over him despite barely being in the same room as you, able to sniff you out from across the school. In his cell, as he's fighting the change, your scent still drives him nuts to the point he snaps and loses it completely.

🌙 Speaking of scents, he often finds himself smoking like a chimney some days just to keep his senses dulled. Whether it's cigarettes or cigars, whatever he gets his hands on will do as long as tobacco smoke depravates his sense of smell. Not only to keep your odd yet tantalizing scent out of his nose and head, but also all of the disgusting smells that come from life (especially in a school mostly housed by teenagers who don't know how to do laundry). And if you walk by? The poor man almost swallowed his cigar, hacking up smoke and ash for hours.

🌙 You've caught him looking at you so many times. At first he would look away with a gruff look on his face as he tried to play it cool. But as you started warming up to the mutant and flirting with him, he looks away bashfully with a faint blush blooming on his cheeks. And if anyone Gambit asks and teases him about, they're threatened with the claws.

🌙 It all came ahead when you shockingly found him flirting back one day, both of you suddenly finding yourselves alone when he accidentally cornered you. He rolled with it when he saw that sadistically smooth grin plaster on your face, caging you in between his arms as he just couldn't take it anymore. He did his best, but you cut him off by pressing your lips against his, shutting him up and stirring something primal inside of him.

🌙 He knew he shouldn't be doing this. You're a student here and he's one of your professors, let alone the big ugly side he hid away just beneath your feet. It sounds pathetic to him but he doesn't want you to see him like how the others do. He wants you to feel warm and safe. And his.

🌙 You found out pretty quickly, too quickly for him to admit. You're smart, he should've figured you would sooner or later. You didn't even need to find him in the cells during the full moon to figure it out, having even seen his eyes change to a pale yellow on the off chance amongst other things. You meant to ask it more as a joke, not expecting Logan to be fully honest with you, looking ashamed the entire time.

🌙 Logan's had decades to control and curb that darker side of him, and it's paid off for the most part. He rarely has outbursts, but there are times where his temper flares and that side of him starts to creep out. You often notice the shift in his demeanor, placing a calming hand somewhere on him as you whisper for him to calm down. It does wonders to him, knowing you're right there, your scent in his nose and your words cutting through the primal wilderness.

🌙 Logan loves it if you wear his clothes, especially one of his jackets. It does something to him that he can't describe when he sees you enveloped in his large, baggy leather jacket, wrapped entirely in his scent and looking so perfect to him. It's a shame the jacket hits the floor sometimes when he gets in the mood.

🌙 You finally get to see that other side of him after nearly a year of dating, Logan softly asking you to come with him in the early cusps of dawn as you both laid in bed together. That warm clashed with the chilly cold of the cells as you stood on the other end of the door, watching it unfold before your eyes. He's so much bigger than you would've imagines with dark fur and haunting eyes. It's funny. Just one glance at him and you would've guessed immediately it was Logan, the wolfman just held that look to him.

🌙 He would never admit it out loud but he loves it when you scratch idly at his hair, facial or those thick locks of his. It's hard for him to deny it when though when he becomes putty in your hands, practically growling with pleasure as your nails lightly scratch at his skin. He gets all gruff and grumbly when you point it out, stating that he isn't sweet and shit only for his heart to melt like a gooey pot of honey. He often breaks that look on his face when you laugh and press a kiss to his prickly cheek.

🌙 He doesn't mean it, but he does get a little jealous when it comes to some of the other mutants in the school. He doesn't know if it's just him being protective over you or the beast inside of him, but both can agree that he wants to keep you safe over all else. If you're talking with someone like Kurt or Hank he sort of feels threatened and it kind of stresses him out.

🌙 He hates the dog puns that people often throw out, especially when it's people that don't actually know about that side of him. Whether its lap dog or guard dog or something amongst those lines, it really puts a sour taste in his mouth. You're the only one safe from this, however - to a limit. The only one he fully lets you get away with is when you're calling him a good boy (because he is one >:) ).

[sttoru]

⟣ note. based on this panel of the veil manga :3 loved it sm i had to make a small fic out w/ toji && yes this is also ur sign to go read veil :>

⟣ tags. toji fushiguro + female reader. fluff. implied age gap (reader 20-ish, toji 30) ig..?, size difference. toji’s smoking. toji calls reader ‘little girl, kid, brat’ and is a big meanie. i’ve personally written it to be platonic but can also be read as romantic = completely up to you.

the night was a cold one; most citizens had escaped inside, searching for shelter in their houses due to the freezing temperatures and windy weather. therefore, the normally bustling streets had now transformed completely empty and quiet.

“fuckin’ hell.”

well—‘almost’ completely empty and quiet.

“what’s wrong?” you ask toji, who was standing beside you near a fence, looking down at the beautiful scenery the city lights created. you had begged him to meet up in this cold weather solely because you couldn’t sleep.

toji (reluctantly) agreed even though he was warm and cozy underneath his blankets the moment you called. he put on a random coat and went out to accompany you on your little stroll. you knew he wouldn’t do that for anyone else, though you don’t tease him about that fact; he’d probably turn around and go right back to his apartment out of spite.

“can’t light my cig up because of the damn wind.” the older man clicks his tongue, creating a small ‘tsk’ sound. he used his hand to try and block the cold breeze from blowing out the small fire from his lighter, but to no avail.

“poor you, having to deal with an anti-smoking wind.” your witty comment gains a huff and a gentle kick to the butt from toji.

“ha-ha. real funny, kid.”

you lean against the railing, hands cupping your own cheeks as you prop your elbows against the surface. the wind was strong and made you shiver just a tad bit, but the moment was still enjoyable. the distant sounds of the cars speeding across the roads, your coats rustling, the heels of your feet tapping against concrete and… the sounds of a man struggling and cursing next to you.

“still no luck?” you tease with a shit-eating grin whilst turning your face to the side, gazing at toji whose cigarette was still defeatedly dangling from between his lips.

“nah, none.” he scoffs and seemed on the verge of giving up when you clear your throat in an overly confident manner. you stepped closer to him—the faint smell of both alcohol and tobacco instantly filling your nostrils—and undid the two upper buttons of your coat.

toji’s eyes flicker from his lighter to you and he raises an eyebrow at your sudden interference. the look in your eyes seemed to hint at mischief, yet they also glimmered with pride at what you were about to do.

“c’mere.” you gesture for the older man to lower his head, hands parting your coat to both sides of your body, forming a protective shield from any winds. you stood on your tiptoes so toji could light his cigarette in the self-made cover.

toji chuckles at this; “pretty smart, ain’t ya?” he bends his head down, his hands carefully holding onto both your elbows, lifting you a bit higher up on your tiptoes so that he could reach you. toji then lowers his head a bit more until it was fully engulfed by your coat. the warmth radiating from your body almost makes him forget what he was supposed to do.

his thumb rolls against the sparkwheel, the little flame now being more stable as you try your best to keep steady on the tips of your shoes—eyes looking down at the top of toji’s head. his black hair was tickling your chin and you held yourself back from giggling, since it’d probably mess up the cover if you do.

after a second or two, toji finally gets his cigarette to burn up. he lingers there between the warmth of your coat for more than needed, but eventually pulls away and straightens his back—once again towering over your short figure.

toji stays silent as another strong gust of wind almost makes you fall back. your hair gets in your eyes and blocks most of your vision, making it unable to see if your trick helped him like intended.

“did it work?” you ask, voice slightly raised in case toji couldn’t hear you over the loud wind. there was no answer, but you could spot him holding the cigarette up to his lips, the small stick of nicotine resting between his index and middle finger.

seeing you helplessly try to wipe the locks of hair from your face was quite amusing to the man. he didn’t bother helping you like you did to him a moment ago.

besides, you’d survive without his aid—he’s just going to enjoy the view of your adorable self struggling against the wind.

toji moves closer to you after a couple seconds of just grinning at your useless fight against the weather. his free hand pushes your hair to the side, rough fingers gliding across the skin above your eyebrow and eventually coming to rest behind your ears—having tucked the loose strands away.

your obstructed view dissolves and is replaced by a sight you’ve seen many times before: toji, giving you that devilish smirk of his, the one he shows you before he does something to either tease or piss you off.

“guess it did work.” you hum as your eyes focus on the lit up cigarette. you felt proud of yourself for helping toji with that simple task and that lightly cocky expression somehow made you look even cuter to the assassin.

he really just wanted to squeeze and pinch your cheeks as hard as he could. was that called cuteness aggression?

toji takes a long drag of his cigarette before unexpectedly blowing the smoke out in your face, causing you to cough and pinch your nose, “hey! is that how you thank your saviour?”

your answer was a small snicker. toji averted his gaze from you to the city beneath your feet as you stood on a hill. he was having fun accompanying you on your late night stroll. it wasn’t every day that he got to relax like this—plus, you were the only one in his social circle who’d voluntarily hang out with him. others would solely meet up for business matters.

once you calmed down a bit, coughed the smoke out of your throat and fanned any remaining particles away from your face, you mumbled something among the lines of ‘never helping him out again’. the assassin shakes his head at your light-hearted complaints, your pouty expression only fuelling him to tease you some more.

“whadd’ya say there, little girl?” toji raises an eyebrow, one hand coming up to lightly grab your ear and tug at it, your body stumbling back towards his. you yelp and wrap your fingers around toji’s wrist—trying to release yourself from his grasp.

“ouch! let go!” a swat to his forearm did nothing; his bulky physique was easily overpowering you. your tugging and pulling was nothing but child’s play to him.

your lips formed an ever bigger pout, eyes narrowing at him as you tried to give him your meanest death glare. toji was satisfied once he got the reaction he wanted and let go of your ear, but not before rubbing the tingling area gently with his thumb and index finger—soothing the faint pain in his own way.

“seriously, toji?” you roll your eyes and give him one last smack against his bicep. you lean back against the fence and glance down at the streets, feigning your anger at him for teasing you twice in a row.

“you mad?” toji takes another long pull from his cigarette before blowing the smoke out the other way. he turns around and leans his back against the railing, granting himself the perfect opportunity to look down at your face which you tried to hide away;

“am not.”

“yeah you are.”

“am not!”

“…whatever you say, brat.”

[rollnwraps]

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[mimikila]

10 things I hate love about you

a/n: Hey! So this is my first fanfic here, english is not my first language so I apologize for any mistake. If you have any questions, ask in the comments and I will clarify!

Synopsis: You hate most teenagers. Seungmin is one of them, and he also has a terrible habit with betting. What happens when he loses a bet and is forced to take you to the prom?

+40k words

pairing: bad boy!Seungmin x hater!Reader

Inspired by "10 things I hate about you"

TW: fem!reader, comedy, dirty jokes, bad words, angst, comfort, dick!Yeonjun (srry), stupid!Seungmin, Y/N is a hater of everyone, kind of enemies to lovers, mentions of sex (nothing explicit), drugs, mentions of getting drunk, partys. (let me know if i forgot somenthing)

You were never one to do things for the sake of others. She hates following what's in trending, hates teenagers who don't have their own personality, hates those who have sex for fun, hates couples who are together just to not be alone and hates even more those who stop doing what they want just to fit in somewhere.

Obviously she hates school. Okay, not exactly school. But the place surrounded by teenagers with raging hormones, there was exactly what you didn't like.

"When will you finally agree to go out with me, sweetie?" Choi Yeonjun's provocative voice sounded in her ears. Wonderful, just what I needed this morning. She thinks.

"Maybe in one of my darkest nightmares." she answers him without even looking into the redhead's eyes, more interested to remove the books needed for the next class from your locker.

"Come on, you don't have to be so annoying all the time." Yeonjun follows her as she walks to her room, his usual playful face only making her angrier. "But apparently you do." She quickens her pace before he even gives up following her with an irritated smile and a roll of his eyes.

The girl sits at her desk when she arrives in the classroom, her best - and only - friend, Yunjin, the person she still supported in that place, was a year younger, therefore, from a different class, which made her completely alone during the classes.

Excellent. Just the way she liked it.

The literature teacher was saying something that probably only you were listening to when the class is interrupted by a late student.

All the bored students turn their heads towards the sound of the door opening as a way to escape the monotony of class. "Sorry, I'm late. I was.. uhm-" he scratches the back of his head trying his best to think of a good excuse. again. "Smoking in the back hallway? That's new." The teacher says ironically, before pointing out, what he automatically understood, After all, it wouldn't be the first time he ended up in the principal's office.

Kim Seungmin.

a summary of everything you most hated, Impressionable. His addiction to tobacco and his obvious presence at almost every party was visible to anyone. He was different from Yeonjun however, even though they seemed to sympathize with each other. Silent, perhaps because he had nothing smart to say. He wore only dark clothes with thick leather jackets and spent most of his breaks with the group of punks who use drugs and listen to exaggeratedly loud music behind the school. He interrupted classes with stupid questions just to make others laugh and took part in surreal bets for pure entertainment. Getting into fights over a pack of cigarettes, skipping classes, going to detention, you're sure he just doesn't have a longer body count because girls are afraid of him.

In other words, a complete asshole.

Your thought is interrupted when some laughter came from the other students as soon as Seungmin was kicked out of the room. You roll your eyes before raising your hand to interrupt the teacher's speech. "Do you always have to have an opinion about everything?" he sighs as he sat at his desk at the front of the room. This would be a long class.

-

"I told you, if you couldn't stay away from the board for a week you would lose." Yeonjun laughs playfully along with some of his friends.

"It didn't count this time, it wasn't even because of a fight. I was just late." Seungmin mumbles before inhaling his cigarette, not finding the things amusing at all.

"Without specifics, a trip to the board is a trip to the board." Yeonjun says with that damn smile. bastard. Seungmin thinks.

"Fine, damn it." Seungmin stubs out his cigarette on the wall he was leaning against with an irritated sigh. "What do you want?" he crosses his arms while looking at Yeonjun with a frown, already deeply regretting this fucking challenge.

"Um... I don't know, but I'll definitely think about it." His laugh is cut off as Yeonjun's gaze catches you passing through the yard.

The student council girl runs towards her as soon as she sees her approaching one of the prom posters, but she doesn't get there fast enough before she rips it off the wall and crushes it with one hand.

"Pathetic tradition." you mutter to yourself while walking to meet Yunjin.

Bingo.

"I think I've thought enough." Yeonjun close his eyes with a smirk and Seungmin can feel a shiver just for of what awaited him. "Look." Yeonjun turns Kim around while holding his shoulders, before pointing at the two girls who were chatting carelessly.

"Yunjin? I was expecting worse than that." Seungmin crosses his arms in front of his chest, watching the pretty girl let out a laugh.

"No, no. No Yunjin, look closer." Yeonjun already laughs, amused by what he had prepared for the Doberman boy.

"I'll pass." Seungmin turns around before starting to walk - run away - from the red-haired guy. "you have no choice! last month I went on a date with Seo Shin-ae because of that bet, without complaining!" Yeonjun chases him before Seungmin himself stopped running with a sigh.

"What do I have to do?" He crosses his arms as he glares at the taller guy furiously. "Take her to the prom." Yeonjun says without thinking twice, with the same shitty smile. "I'll. pass."

"You have no choice." In any normal situation, Seungmin could just give up that bet, he might not have even made it in the first place. But that would be too much for his ego and fragile masculinity. "Fine."

"Hah, you're gonna die." Yeonjun scoffs, knowing very well who Seungmin would have to deal with. "I hope so." Those are his last words before storming out of the school yard, seconds before the break alarm goes off.

-

Sweat poured down your face as you breathed heavily. You crawl tiredly to the benches next to the field to get a bottle of water, opening it and pouring a good amount into your mouth and face.

What a wonderful sight. Seungmin thinks with a disgusted expression. Sighing, he accepts his fate as he puts a smile on his face as he approaches the bench of the women's soccer team members.

"Hey, how are you?" He asks with his seductive and carefree tone, resting one of his hands on the back of the seat and using the other to brush his bangs out of the eyes. Obviously acting charming.

She stares at him with a frown and almost the same look of disgust he gave her a few seconds ago. "Sweaty like a pig." You tighten the bottle cap without even looking at him.

this girl...

He forces his best laugh as he bites his bottom lip, part of it because he was punishing himself for such humiliation.

"at 22:30"

"what?" She finally looks at him, part of her bangs obstructing her vision before she tries to tuck them behind her ear, to no avail. “Go out with me” Seungmin says as if she had already accepted. She scoffs.

"Lost another bet, Kim?" You smile before starting to walk off the field. Seungmin smiles just knowing that she knew his name. "Is it so difficult to imagine that someone wants your company out of pure and spontaneous desire?" He scoffs back, following her. This is familiar.

“If that someone is you, or Yeonjun, or any of your little bitch friends, yes, it is.” You waste no time looking at him as you grabbed your backpack from the floor.

"You're pretty."

"Is that your only reason?"

"It's just a damn date!" Seungmin he finally stops chasing her, watching her continue running away without even checking in on him.

"I'll pass." He bites his lower lip at the familiarity of those words, sighing irritably as he runs his hand through his bangs in a failed attempt to calm himself.

"You're cooked." He hears the voice of his friend, Jeongin.

One year younger, handsome, sweet and stylish, but for some reason he was adopted by the group of crazy smoking punks. Your words.

The blonde followed the entire scene while eating a bag of potatoes fries, enjoying the torture of his almost brother and best friend.

"Oh, really?" Seungmin scoffs, still looking at the way where you went, before turning to his friend and dropping his bag of potatoes on the floor.

-

"Are you stalking me?" You get out of your marine blue Chevrolet, a small gift from your father that you got last year. Her usual anger was ever present in her voice.

"Are you that cocky?" Seungmin responds with his annoyingly pretty smile. She crosses her arms, unconvinced by his answer. He sighs in defeat.

"I was at the bar across the street, saw your car and wanted to say hi." He feels like a little child finding excuses to his angry parents.

"Well, you already said. Bye." She says before going her own way, leaving him behind awkwardly. He sighs again.

Seungmin starts to feel hopeless when he sees Yeonjun park his convertible right behind her car, purposely blocking her path. "Any lucky today?"

Seungmin just gives him the middle finger before the redhead get out of his car and walk past him. Perfect timing for you to exit the grocery store and see your car stuck between the sidewalk and Yeonjun's stupidly expensive vehicle. "You've got to be kidding...."

-

A dented car and Seungmin serving as an alibe for Yeonjun's complaint against her for purposely reversing her car.

He was lost.

It has never been so difficult to please some girl. You were openly a hater of everything and everyone around you. He sighs. Ever since he tried to ask her out, he's been sighing more than he has in his entire life.

"I need your help." The brunette crosses his arms on the lunch table. Jeongin looks up at him, his eyebrows raised. "That's crazy, huh?"

Seungmin rolls his eyes.

"She just doesn't like men." He says sulking.

"Maybe she just doesn't like you."

"Hardly. Anyway, how would I know what she likes?" Jeongin exchanges looks with Seungmin before saying. "I have an idea."

-

“Kim Seungmin wants to go out with Y/N?” Yunjin frowns in confusion, the duo in front of her sighing. "Kind of-"

"He wants to." Jeongin corrects. Yunjin and he weren't exactly friends, but they had a common class, which made them exchange some polite pleasantries. "He needs help because he doesn't seem to have a chance with her."

"It's not like I don't have-"

"What does she like?" Jeongin maintains the conversation with Yunjin, ignoring Seungmin's interruptions, making him scoff and cross his arms like a grumpy child. "Does she even like guys?" The oldest rolls his eyes.

"She likes handsome guys, she has a poster of Gong Yoo in her room." Yunjin explains with a giggle, remembering the times she frequented your room. Seungmin thinks about how much easier it would be to have to hang out with her and not you.

The blonde boy looks briefly at his friend with furrowed eyebrows, the older one raises an eyebrow at him. "You're not that bad." Jeongin tries to convince himself with a little smile. "Now you..."

"She doesn't like smokers, or loud or quarrelsome guys." The girl with blue hair starts to score while looking at Seungmin, looking more and more hopeless. "But if it makes you feel better, she thinks your smile is pretty."

"My smile?"

"His smile??"

Seungmin elbows Jeongin who complains audibly. "Yes, she said something like..." Yunjin searches her memory, trying to remember what you had said to her a few days ago.

-

"He won't leave me alone, he thinks I'm stupid for believing that it's not just another bet between him and Yeonjun." You flip through the page of the old fashion magazine you had for years now, sighing nervously as you vent to Yunjin.

"Maybe it's not a bet, why don't you just agree to go out with him and find out?" The younger girl seemed much more focused on filing her nails than actually talking. "He irritates me! Always showing that...damn. pretty. smile. He knows it's pretty and that's the most annoying thing." You closed the magazine irritably, lifting your head from the pillow as you used your hands aggressively to prove your point.

"He annoys you or turns you on?" Yunjin teases, finally looking at you. "It takes a lot more than a smile to turn me on, believe me. And he's a complete asshole, his bangs are ridiculous and he's not interesting at all." You turn your attention back to the magazine as you lay back on the bed.

-

"That's a begining." Jeongin always optimistic.

"My bangs aren't ridiculous!" Seungmin stands up irritably before being pulled down again by his friend.

"Okay, okay. We need to know what she likes. Books, music, hobbies.." The blonde takes his attention back to Yunjin, who was listening attentively.

"She likes feminist poetry." Seungmin rolls his eyes. "She loves music, she goes to the music store almost every day to play the piano, even though she never buy one." Yunjin smiles as she thinks about what her friend liked, probably the only person who really supports her.

"She bought tickets for Mitski too."

"And what the fuck is that exactly?" Seungmin closes his eyes. He hated the fact that a small bet was taking up so much of his days.

"Music for melancholy teenage girls with mommy issues." Jeongin responds, receiving a pout from Yunjin. "The show is this Saturday, maybe you show up and she ends up seeing you? It would make you more interesting in her eyes."

"No way, what would people think of me if they saw me there?" Seungmin leans his back against the bench while crossing his arms in front of him. "Do you want the gal or not?" the youngest raises an eyebrow at him.

-

Melancholic teenage girls, just like

Jeogin said. Seungmin felt watched as he entered the bar where the show was taking place, he looked both ways to make sure he didn't know anyone there.

You hummed and swayed your body from side to side with Yunjin very close to the stage, stopping to touch your friend's ear and shout so she could hear. "I'm going to get something to drink!"

She walked through the small huddled crowd at the front of the stage, muttering a few apologies to get closer to the bar. "a bloody marry, please!" You say, loud enough for the bartender to hear.

She downs the drink in one go, feeling the unusual burn in her throat as she swallows. "I didn't know you drank." The inconveniently familiar voice makes her roll her eyes.

"What are you doing here? Do you know Mitski?" She asks, now looking at him, noticing him there for the first time.

"And who doesn't?" He says, finishing his drink, before standing up and walking into the crowd. right, acting disinterested.

She follows him out of pure curiosity, she justifies herself . "And since when do you consume indie music?" She scoffs as she approaches him.

"Ah. that's my favorite one." Seungmin ignores her before humming the lyrics from 'Your best American girl'. She scoffs again, not believing it for a second.

"Are you high?"

"No, I stopped smoking, they say it's bad for your health, right?" He looks at her for the first time, or at least the first time she's noticed. "Oh, really..? good for you then." you speak awkwardly, running out of things to respond. He smiles to himself. Victory.

"And if I may say so, you're pretty when you are not wearing the same pair of jeans as always." Seungmin teases with that sideways smile again, now he knew she liked it.

"Hah, you think so?" She tries to mock him even though she feels a pang of embarrassment at the compliment. "You also look... acceptable, with your bangs swept back." He rolls his eyes at her attempt at a compliment.

"Thanks?" He jokes and she laughs, for the first time time looking genuine. Point for him.

"You know... You're not that uninteresting." He arches an eyebrow. "So will you go with me to the party tomorrow?" Seungmin wastes no time and she rolls her eyes.

"Party? What party?" She asks, showing no interest however. She was now missing a great song to be talking to him.

"Changbin, the rich producer who studied at our school." He smiles as he realizes he hasn't been rejected yet.

"This guy doesn't even study there anymore and he still invites that bunch of teenagers?" The girl asks rhetorically, he sighs.

"Do you always talk like a grandma?" He bites his lower lip. Was this a habit of his? Damn habit. "Most of the time."

He rolls his eyes, grabbing one of her hands to spin her to the beat of the music. Even though 'Nobody' didn't go with dancing. "You really need to learn how to socialize."

She feels something in her stomach that she hasn't felt in a long time. "I have to study."

"Then I'll pick you up at nine."

"You don't know where I live."

"I'll figure it out."

She rolls her eyes as he walks away, probably leaving after getting what he wants. You sigh before walking back closer to Yunjin.

-

"Why did I agree with this?" You mutter a little to yourself as you both enter the large house.

"Because I asked you to." Seungmin was right behind her as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She mocks his response before entering the much acclaimed 'party'.

He sees Yeonjun in the middle of some girls, his smile disappears as soon as he looks at the guy with his arm around her neck and Seungmin smiles victoriously. Yeonjun clenches his jaw, something about him being able to get close to you so easily made him... jealous? He scoffs before turning his attention back to Lia, or whatever the name of the girl in front of him was.

-

You really don't know how you ended up here.

On top of the main table swaying to the music of some pop singer you hate it, while a bunch of teenagers supported you to continue.

"She really came." Seungmin wakes up when he hears Jeongin's voice next to him, with a bag of potatoes in his hand as he watches the entire scene. He has deja vú.

The brunette sighs irritably before approaching the table. "Okay, okay the show is over, you're drunk." He tries hard to get you off the 'stage', with you complaining while you get down from the place. "You need some air." He raises his eyebrows in a lament, before dragging her to the porch of the house.

"I... I'm... great, I just need- one more drink..." She mumbles drunkenly as she reaches out to steal the drink from someone else, who quickly dodges her and walks away irritably.

"I would never imagine that someone like you would drink so much like this." Seungmin scoffs before placing her near the stone fences for support. "Isn't that what you guys do at parties?" She mutters with a few strands of hair stuck to her lip gloss, throwing all her weight on the marble piece right below her.

"There's hair in your mouth." The boy teases her before taking one of his hands to look for the strands stuck to her lips, his gaze focused on the movement. before he raises the focus to her eyes.

The party music seems to fade away as he stares into your eyes, his hand drops to your chin and he doesn't seem to want to break his gaze.

"I can see my reflection in your eyes." She says in a sigh, and he bites his bottom lip with a smile.

Seungmin gets closer to her face, and for half a second, he forgot about that bet. His attention too focused on her long eyelashes and then on her parted lips. He starts to close his eyes before being abruptly stopped when she pulls away from him and turns to the other side with a groan, letting everything she consumed at the party out.

The boy scratches the back of his head with a sigh, embarrassed by his own actions as he remembers seconds ago. "Come on, let's go home."

-

You can't remember the last time you laughed this much, it seemed like everything Seungmin said was funny.

"Wait a minute, you sing?" You ask in surprise.

"I've been singing since I was nine" He replies, focusing on driving.

"Show me." The girl says with bright eyes, still a little drunk.

"No."

"Come on! Show me, I want to hear it." She whimpers.

"I don't sing in front of people." Seungmin has a pout surprisingly cute on the face.

"Oh, are you shy?" Y/N quips with a giggle.

"I am." He laughs back, before stopping the car right in front of her house. "You're at home."

She looks out the window, seeing the place she grew up in, but at the moment it didn't seem like where she wanted to be. She turns to him again. "Thank you for inviting me, after all you're not that bad."

"This may have been the best compliment you've ever given me." He scoffs with a smile, one hand still resting on the steering wheel of the car and the other going to run through his bangs, he suddenly remembers that he was wearing his hair as usual. "Oh, I forgot to comb my bangs back today."

"It looks good like this." You respond faster than you intended. "You said it looked ridiculous." He laughs when he remembers, biting the lower lip.

"What? I never said that." raising an eyebrow in confusion, looking at him with a small smile.

"Right, you never said that." He quickly corrects himself, the two stare at each other in silence before bursting into laughter at the same time.

Everything felt right, laughing in the passenger seat right next to Seungmin, who was smiling just like you. Is this real?

Their laughter subsides as their eyes lock again, the previous tension returning as their gazes lock onto each other. You are the first to approach this time, leaving your face just inches from his as you close your eyes. He was going to do the same before a pang of guilt stopped him, and he sighs. Why can't I just be a selfish bastard like always? He thinks before pulling away and looking ahead of the road.

"It's late, you should come in." Seungmin murmurs in a sigh and you open your eyes, but he refuses to look at you. You scoff.

"You're unbelievable." She mocks before quickly taking off her belt, opening the car door and getting out without looking back, entering her house.

What was his problem?

-

"What have you done now?" Jeongin asks with a frown, the two of them sitting in the stands of the big football field while Seungmin asked the younger boy for advice. How ironic.

"Nothing, that's the problem." Seungmin sighs, looking at the field only to see you playing along with the rest of the team. "She was drunk, I didn't want to.." He can't finish his sentence.

"When did you become so moralistic?" Jeongin scoffs. "You know what? I don't know!" the brunette takes hands to his face, frustrated.

"Look, whatever happened, go out there and apologize." The blonde crosses his arms while rolling his eyes. "Why are you assuming I'm the one who fucked up?"

"And it wasn't?" Seungmin doesn't respond. Jeongin sighs. "Wait a day for her to calm down and then put your ego aside and humble yourself for forgiveness." The brunette makes a face at him before looking at the field. to see her again.

You were furious, and everyone in that camp had already noticed. Dribbling an adversary and knocking down another as if she were playing rugby, kicking the ball into the goal with so much force that the goalkeeper didn't even try to catch it, ducking to save his life.

"Two days, I will wait two days." Seungmin says as he stared at the entire scene in horror.

"Yeah, that's better." The blonde does the same. "By the way, I'm dating Yunjin now" Jeongin smiles proudly, his eyes closing in the process.

"Huh? since when?" Seungmin brings his attention back to the shorter one.

"Since the party, we kissed and now we're going out ." He explains with his nose in the air.

"Where did you kiss?"

"In the car, after I dropped her off at home."

....

A sigh.

"Okay I guess I have class now." Seungmin doesn't wait for a response before walking off the field, leaving a confused and offended Jeongin.

-

Seungmin would definitely regret this.

Bribing the people at the radio club wasn't that difficult. A few grams of the most popular weed of the moment was enough for him to have his ten minutes of fame. The band was the hardest part, but luckily he had a close friend, Han Jisung, who coincidentally was captain of the orchestra.

Done.

You were training on the football field like every wednesday, when you hear the loud speakers echoing. Weird. Is the school on fire?

"Uriga nanun...

Gin siganmankeum neureonan gidaeneun"

A song..? A strangely familiar male voice. You and the rest of the team stop to pay attention.

"Eojjeomyeon dang-yeonhaljido molla.."

Try again. It was a beautiful song, yes, but why out of nowhere?

"Sumaneun oechimdo"

She looks around as do the rest of the people in the field.

"Seoroui mamen dachi motan chae"

...

"Geureoke heulleogagido haetjiman."

Your gaze finally meets his, sitting at the very top of the stands, he is surprisingly looking straight at you. You bite your lip to contain your smile. "Unbelievable..."

"So whenever you ask me again how I feel..."

The school orchestra plays it when the chorus starts, you look around, it was hard to believe. Am I in a romantic comedy?

"Please remember my answer is you."

You smile at him and he smiles back as he sings the words. His voice was so beautiful. You knew good singers, but this was different. She felt like he was singing for her.

"Meon gireul dasi doraganda haedo"

He looks away from her only to see Lady Shin, better known as Miss Principal, walking towards him.

"Nan yeojeonhi gateun mamil tenikka."

Seungmin continues singing until the older woman approaches him.

"We'll be alright, I want to try again."

He takes a final bow before following the nervous lady inside the school, managing to hear the applause of everyone watching.

Seungmin looks away from the director who was scolding him, as usual, looking at you again, with a sideways smile as he waved softly at her. You smile with a nod, still in disbelief. You wanted to be mad at him, you wanted to think it was just a challenge from him and Yeonjun and then ignore him completely. But Kim Seungmin was trying hard to get into her heart.

He will be the death of you.

"Miss Y/N, What are you doing here?" The voice of the detention teacher awakens Seungmin from the moon world. The boy quickly looks towards the door, to see you standing there with a half smile.

"Detention, sir. Arguing with a teacher." She explains herself without any remorse. He bites his lower lip to contain the smile. You definitely did it on purpose.

"Sure, sit down." The teacher says, and she does so when she finds a place next to him.

"You're a good singer." Another point for him.

"So I'm forgiven?" Seungmin supports his chin with one hand and smiles softly.

"Yeah, I guess so." She responds without looking at him, opening one of her books to appear uninterested. He smiles.

-

"Let's go to karaoke." Seungmin follows you down the halls to your locker. He's been getting more clingy. Sitting with you at lunch and unconsciously kicking Yunjin out, walking you home, 'helping' you with your homework in the library, but really just staring at you while you write.

Seungmin told himself that he was just trying hard for the bet, but the blunt truth is that he didn't even remember that anymore. He's gotten used to smoking just one cigarette before bed, and waking up early to take a shower to make sure you don't smell the smoke. He read more books than he had ever read in his entire life and to be honest, Mitski's music wasn't that bad. Jeongin makes fun of him, knowing his friend well enough to know that this wasn't all to prove his masculinity to Yeonjun. The fact is that he likes you.

"I can't sing." You laugh at him, trying your best to shove all of your notebooks inside the small school locker. "Well, I know." He scoffs back, that smile never leaving his lips as he leans his head against the locker next to you.

"Have you lost your shyness?" You finally closes it and leans against the door, looking directly at him now.

"I think serenading you in front of half the school helped me with that." He scoffs, his voice a few tones lower than normal, his gaze never leaving yours before he reaches up to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear.

"Let's go to karaoke then." You try changing his attention out of pure embarrassment, feeling your cheeks burn as you turn away from the metal lockers, walking to your next class. "But don't make fun of me."

"I can't promise that."

"Your task is to redo this little Shakespeare poem. You have until class before the ball to do it." Old Professor Jin says with a yawn.

Right. The bail.

Suddenly Seungmin remember your initial purpose. He sighs. He obviously wanted to take you to the prom, but not because of the bet, no, he wanted to take you because he wanted to have you around, he didn't want anyone else, he wanted you.

The boy looks at her only to see her absently playing with a colored pen, for the first time you seemed disconnected from the class. What were you thinking? He smiles foolishly.

-

Singing wasn't your strong point, you loved music, but you preferred to stick to instruments. She was certainly leaving her comfort zone when she agreed to go to karaoke with Seungmin.

After the second song, where Seungmin made her sure he wouldn't make fun of her for her voice, she feels at ease. The two sang together, Seungmin introducing his voice whenever he felt it was necessary. - whenever she would go out of tune -, and she was grateful for that. Something about her laughing and him talking nonsense in between lyrics made her feel at home, almost like she'd known him for years. How long have they been talking? a month? maybe a month and a half? She's not sure. But it already felt like an eternity.

"Only? Do you want to tell me something or.." Seungmin makes fun of her song choice, she just laughs in return. "It's a beautiful song." You respond and he nods.

"Be my only one"

You sing, Seungmin doesn’t interrupt. He looks at her with puppy eyes as he watched her mouth move to the melody of the song, he wasn't really listening, too distracted by whatever it was right now. Her eyes shine as she reads the lyrics on the monitor, the light from the TV illuminating her entire body. Every detail of her face being analyzed by him. Her big eyelashes, her hair that fell a little on her face and her full lips that moved as the song went by. Ah, those lips. He then remembers when he was so close to them that he could feel their breath caress his face.

"Now I believe"

Y/N turns her gaze to him when she notices him being very silent. Right. The karaoke.

"A song called la la la la"

Seungmin sings with her, his voice drawn out by the small laugh he let out when he remembered that the song existed.

"You who searched and searched and wandered"

The monitor was forgotten as He looked into your eyes, you tried your best to remember the lyrics that always played on the radio when you drove back home.

"My, oh my, oh my, oh, my love"

The feeling of everything being blurry returns when the two maintain eye contact, she watching her reflection in Seungmin's eyes and he trying hard not to kiss her at that moment. How did she end up here? With the kind of guy she hated, in a 12 square meter room, singing, looking into his eyes with the greatest sexual tension she'd ever felt.

"Be my only love"

He gives up, As soon as the last words of the chorus come out of both of them, he approaches completely, their lips colliding. That feeling in your stomach again. It's like fireworks when Seungmin brings a hand to her cheek, letting go of the microphone to rest his hand on the bench right behind you. This looks like a scene from a romance book. She thinks. He almost faints when the kiss stops for a second and she parts her lips to give way to his tongue, which he doesn't take long to accept. His hands go to her waist as he deepens the kiss, her back rests against the wall when Seungmin leans even closer, as if he wasn't already close enough.

He pulls away to catch his breath, both of them breathing heavily as he rests his forehead against hers, sighing. "Go to the prom with me."

"I'm not really into that kind of stuff."

"But you're into me though." He teases, and she laughs before capturing his lips again.

He needed to talk to Yeonjun.

-

With a lame excuse he loses you and goes to the back of the school, not taking long to find Yeonjun and the rest of his 'friends'. "We need to talk."

"What's up Seungmin! How long friend, you've been kind of busy recently." Yeonjun takes the cigarette out of his mouth to greet the brunette, wrapping an arm around his neck as he pulls him closer to the circle. The redhead offers him a cigarette, Seungmin sighs irritated, picking up the rolled-up piece of paper with his hand, only to throw it on the floor.

"I give up." He says just like that, Yeonjun looks at him confused. "The damn bet, I give up, I'm not going to do that, you win." Seungmin looks deeply into his eyes as he says this, Yeonjun scoffs.

"You've got to be joking, are you serious, Minnie?" The redhead uses the old nickname on purpose, making Seungmin even more uncomfortable. "I thought you were better than this, you can't take a girl to the dance?" Yeonjun laughs dryly. He clenches his jaw.

"I don't care what you think, I just want to make it clear that it's over. I'm not going to be a part of this anymore." Seungmin says firmly, Yeonjun's smile disappears.

"What's your problem Seungmin? Have you gotten into her pants already? Have you had enough?" Seungmin turns to leave, not wanting to hear all that bullshit. “I bet you had fun, Y/N is good in everything she does. When I found out that she played the piano I finally understood why those little hands were so skilled-"

Yeonjun's voice is interrupted when Seungmin drops a closed fist on his cheekbone. That would definitely leave a mark. The redhead has little time to react before Seungmin pushes him and he hits his back on the ground. All Yeonjun can feel are the punches of the youngest in his face.

The fight doesn't last long when the two's friends run to separate them, now a group of other students are already surrounding them when Seungmin hears director Shin's familiar voice. Shit.

He doesn't think straight as he follows her out of the circle of students, nervously trying to brush his bangs out of his face. Seungmin couldn't hear anything, and his vision was blurry too. What was Yeonjun's problem? Was he just messing with him? Did he really already have...? That didn't make sense. No, it didn't feel right. You would never be with someone like that. Someone who smokes, fights, screams, hates rules, someone who makes stupid bets. Someone like Yeonjun. Someone like Seungmin.

Oh.

His thought is interrupted when he feels the burning of a gaze penetrating him, beyond of all the others, he felt this one up close. He lifts his head to see you staring at him, near the alley where Yeonjun and his friends were. Did she hear that? Her look was answer enough. Lips swollen from her teeth biting them anxiously, red nose and wet eyes. She heard that.

Seungmin is used to fucking everything up.

But this time he really regretted it.

-

"Some brave to read your poem in front of the class?"

Seungmin was done. part of it was because he knew he fucked up with everything, and the other part was because you were avoiding him. Missing all the classes you had together. You never missed classes. He tried his best to forget, tried to convince himself that 'It was just a girl', but he couldn't. No, not even if he wanted to. And he didn't want to.

With the head resting on his arms and his body leaning on the table he looked absently out the window, wondering where you were. He had done his homework for the first time. But you weren't there to hear it.

-

22:30, That time reminded you of him. Damn.

All the other students were probably having fun, dancing and getting drunk in a room full of fancy dresses and music. But you were in your room, alone.

You scribbled randomly in your notebook as you did your best to relax, 'Reflections' played on your small radio on the corner of the table. This song reminded you of him. Damn. You sigh audibly, throwing your pen somewhere on the desk as you kicked the wall in front of you to move away from the table, letting your head fall to your side and look at the ceiling.

You have condemned yourself for falling for it again. Yeonjun was an asshole, and you learned that the worst way.

first year, you weren't you yet. Little girl who wanted most was to fit in.

And then he appeared. Knight in armor, handsome, charming, with dyed hair and a pretty smile. Yeonjun was your prince. Or that's what you thought. Two months of dating was what it took for him to get what he wanted. After using all his charm he completely seduced you, behind his luxurious convertible. He had you at his mercy.

He didn't force you, no, you did it on your own, after all, everyone was doing it, right? then a week later when he was flirting with Chaewon like you were nothing, it made your heart break into a thousand pieces. Days later you found out about the gambling addiction between Yeonjun and his friends.

You promised never to fall into the clutches of stupid teenagers again.

You sighed, closing your eyes to block out the light from the chandelier in your room, taking deep breaths to calm yourself.

Tic

Weird

Tic

...

Tic

What the hell is that? You open your eyes and look around the room before see a rock hitting the window glass. Very weird. You take cautious steps to the window, opening one of the doors before a rock flies over your head, landing somewhere in the room.

"Sorry!" Kim Seungmin. Exactly the person you wanted to see. You scoff, turning to go back to your bed. "Wait!"

You ignore it, laying down on your bed and looking at the ceiling again.

Seungmin looks up, seeing you disappear into the room, he sighs, ready to give up when he notices that you didn't close the window.

"I'm not sure if you can hear me, but- uhm... I did my homework, ahmm.." He sighs, opening the crumpled piece of paper he's tucked away in his big leather jacket. He clears his throat.

"I love how you talk to me

And how your hair is always blocking your eyes

I love how you sing out of tune

And I love your stubbornness"

He smiles to himself as he reads.

"I love your worn pair of jeans

And I love how you can read my mind.

I love this about you so much

That I even feel sick

I love how you ignore red traffic lights

And I love it when you're brutally honest."

He laughs to himself, unconsciously reaching to brush off his bangs of the eyes.

"I love when you make me smile

And even more when you look into my eyes

I love how you hum when you're distracted

And the fact that you love weird music"

He swallows hard, sucking in some air as he reads his own previously written words. He moistens his lips before continuing.

"But I especially love

how you make me feel loved

Even though I'm everything you hate

And for that, and more

...

I love you."

He still looks at the paper when he bites his bottom lip. Seungmin looks up to see the window, only to notice that you weren’t there yet. He sighs, crumpling up the paper and stuffing it back into his pocket. "I really meant it." He concludes, turning to head back to the car.

Seungmin didn't want to lose you, but he would learn to deal with it. He would try hard to forget everything he spent with you, the show, the party, the football field, the library, the car, the karaoke. Everything. And as his last act of love, he would leave you alone.

Three steps, maybe four, is all he can walk before he feels a weight on his back, staggering him and almost falling to the ground. You snaked your arms around his slim waist, as you buried your face in his back, sniffling. "Stupid....Stupid- I...I hate you." She whimpers, her voice muffled by the fabric. He sighs with relief.

Seungmin turns to hug you from the front, resting his chin on the top of your head as he closes his eyes. "I love you too, baby." He whispers, and you feel those damn butterflies. "I'm really sorry."

"You better be!" She cries, hitting his chest as she pulls her face away from his now wet shirt, looking at him. He brings both hands to her face to wipe away her tears. She sobs.

"You know, I really intended to take you to the prom, I mean- because I wanted to, not because.. you know-" You cut him off when you crash your lips onto his abruptly, shutting him up. It takes a second for him to hug you again, gently taking one hand to your face and the other to your waist. The kiss was wet, a mess, but he couldn't be happier. He smiles, and the bail is forgotten.

"I hate myself for not being able to hate you."

"And I love you."

End.

[rosedpetal]

It's Nice to Have a Friend

Summary: How you and Wade became best friends.

Pairing: Wade Wilson x slightly Depressed!Reader

Word count: 1.5k

Masterlist

It smells like sweat, tobacco and cheap alcohol inside the bar. You immediately regret leaving your cozy apartment, wearing those faux leather pants, a black crop top that makes you feel like you're gonna explode out of it and putting makeup on just to end up in a smelly place that has a bathroom that'll probably give you an UTI if you use it.

But it's your best friend's pleading eyes that soften you up, and you know you have been unavailable lately. Always cancelling on her last minute and isolating in your place after your work hours, wallowing in your misery and wondering if that's all life's gonna be now that you're an adult: paying bills and working in a vicious cycle.

"You're not depressed, you're suffering from late capitalism," Maya begins, as she moves flawlessly on her high heels, her tiny little dress fitting perfectly on her. "You just need a drink or ten to forget for a little while."

"Becoming an alcoholic sounds like a nice solution." You roll your eyes, dodging a broken bottle in your sneakers, kicking another aside as you move between all that trash. Maya was such a princess, why she was in love with someone who worked in such a nasty place was very confusing to you.

"You're so funny." Maya said, kissing your cheek, her manicured thumb grazing on the spot her lipstick left a stain, smudging it a little. "He's very important to me, Y/N. And your approval means a lot."

Your heart made that little flip it always does whenever she says something like this. Maybe it's the guilt gnawing at your mind.

"If he makes you happy, you don't really need my approval, Maya." You mumble, following her inside.

The interior is even worse than outside. The bar is full: of big, chunky men. Some are playing pool, others playing poker, others are drinking alone, sulking.

You keep your face straight, wondering which one of those are Maya's new boyfriend. You sigh in relief when she runs to the one who's sweeping the floor, an Indian skinny guy who - thanks to the gods above - doesn't look old enough to be her father this time.

She lets out a girlish squeal as she hugs him, giving him a tight hug. You approach them, alleviated that he seems normal.

"Y/N, this is Dopinder. Dopinder, this is my bestest of the best friends in the whole world." Maya grins, and you force a smile to Dopinder.

"Hello, Miss Y/N, I'm a mercenary apprentice." The young man shakes your hand and your eyes widen in disbelief.

Of fucking course. Jesus Christ, Maya.

"Now, now, my little brown friend. What did I say about introducing yourself like this? Tsk." A voice coming right behind makes you stiff.

You turn to face whoever is invading your personal space, a mean scowl on your face, when your eyes widen just a little bit. The guy behind you stands at least 6'2". It's not his impressive height that has your attention, though.

It's his skin. Scarred all over, as if he had some rare skin disease. You wondered if it was an accident, and how he was before it happened. His grin spreads a little.

"Disgusted, doll face?" He tilts his head to the side, as if challenging you to admit it.

The bitter undertone in his voice doesn't escape you. You are mortified by your own reaction. Maya senses your unease and jumps in:

"Wade, excuse my friend, she never leaves home."

Your cheeks and neck turn pink. Wade thinks it's the cutest thing in the world.

Before you can bite Maya's head off, she hops away with Dopinder, leaving you alone with this guy you don't know. You bite the inside of your cheek, contemplating going back home, but it'll be just another thing for Maya to whine about later.

"Seems like you've been ditched." He smirks, sensing the way you're shying away.

"So it seems." You say bitterly.

"Can I entertain you with my company?" He raises his hairless eyebrow.

You're tempted to just dismiss this guy, but you're already out of the safety of your home. Might as well get drunk now.

Wade talks at an impressive speed and you almost can't catch up to him. He cracks so many jokes that by the end of your second beer, your face is flushed with laughter.

"So... You don't look like someone who usually goes out to have fun, doll face." He pries.

"No, I don't." You say quietly, a sigh escaping your lips.

"Why, then? Why put the effort in dolling yourself up when we both know you'd rather be watching Gilmore Girls in the comfort of your home?"

"I haven't been a good friend lately." You admit, almost meekly, biting the inside of your cheek - another nasty habit that came with the anxiety.

"What's eating you up alive, doll face?"

His question almost makes you choke. How could you tell him that what has been eating you alive is yourself? Your own thoughts? Your low self esteem and your self depreciation? How do you tell him you don't know what the fuck happened between your high school years and college, why your mind is playing tricks on you?

"Please." Your eyes are blinking with unshed tears.

His gaze softens, and he leans in closer, the soft fabric of his hoodie brushing against your forearm.

"Maya is a sweetheart, but we both know she's not that good of a friend. Not if the only way she can gets you to leave your house is by guilt tripping you into it." He speaks in a hushed tone. "Specially if she drops you the moment she sees her boyfriend."

You look up, your gaze finding his.

"You have such gentle eyes." You blurt out.

He wheezes. Wheezes.

"Wow, let's cut your alcohol, okay? Goddamnit, doll face, I'm the ugliest thing to ever exist since Wes Craven created Freddy Krueger." He mumbles the last part, grabbing a water bottle and twisting the cap for you. "Here. Drink it up. Yes, girl!"

"Are you sure this won't upset my stomach?" You raise your eyebrow, eating your second chimichanga.

Wade rolls his eyes, chewing on his.

You two are sitting on the curb, eating deep fried burritos and drinking soda. Not how you pictured how your night would turn out to be, but much better than what you expected.

"Listen, doll face, did I ever let you down?"

"I literally met you two hours ago."

"Exactly."

"So... Why entertain me?" You can't help but ask.

Wade pauses. He thought you were the cutest thing in the world when he saw you, all wide eyed and brooding, a little scowl on your gorgeous face.

"You seemed like you needed saving." He decides on telling a half-truth instead.

"Is this your thing? Saving damsels in distress?"

He contemplates it. There was nothing heroic about how he acted, or his job, or his personality, for all that mattered. Did he have an ulterior motive to invite you to drink with him? Maybe. But who didn't have ulterior motives?

"No, doll face. Being a hero is not how I operate."

"Are you a mercenary, too?"

His grin widens. Of course.

"It's a long story, doll face. Maybe I'll tell you someday."

"Hmm, is there gonna be a next time, then?"

"It depends. Do you wanna hang out with my ugly ass mug in the foreseeable future?"

This time, you roll your eyes.

Wade Wilson got under your skin in a way that no one else did.

It started with the way he cracked jokes at everything.

Then, his unexpected late night visits, where he brought some take out and you'd both eat it together sitting by your balcony.

Then, he came to you wounded, with more tears and bullet holes you were comfortable with – now that you knew about his healing factor and what triggered it, you thought you'd get used to seeing his guts by now.

Spoiler alert: you didn't.

It wasn't until you cried and sobbed on his chest, wondering if you were a failure, externalizing all your insecurities and doubts and fears, that you realized you actually made a friend.

Wade trotting in your place with his ridiculous crocs, a popcorn bowl and a beer on his hand should've give it away.

"I love you." You blurted out, so unexpectedly that he snapped his head to you, a shocked look on his face.

"You... What?"

"You're like my best friend now. And I love you. Deal with it." You repeat, this time more confidently, crossing your arms over your chest, as if daring him to state otherwise.

"Wow, you're in love with me!" Wade squeals like a school girl.

"Wade, that's not-"

"I mean, why wouldn't you? When I'm all that." He points to himself with a chuckle. "So, when did it happen? Did you get lost in my gentle eyes?" He blinks in an affected way.

You sighed. "I take it back. I hate you."

"Suuuure."

"Just press play on the fucking movie." You mumble, plopping next to him on the couch.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Stars Align 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as age gap, manipulation, power imbalance, dubcon/noncon and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Steve Rogers was one of the biggest stars of Hollywood’s Golden Era. For years, his disappearance from the spotlight has been a mystery, that is until he walks right into your life. (Old Hollywood AU/1960s AU)

Characters: silverfox!Steve Rogers, reader is named ‘Satyr’ for clarity

Note: I enjoy older music and musicals. I tend to drift into this idea whenever I’m enjoying some and I finally said fuck it.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

Steve 

“Sam, wait, wait,” Steve quickly folds up his glasses and tucks them away. He doubts anyone would recognise him but New York has a way of washing the familiar faces up to the shore. “We found her.” 

“What are you talking about? Don’t tell me it’s that Bambi-legged girl who fell on her face,” he scoffs and cups his hand around the cigarette between his lips, flipping up the lid of his lighter. 

“No, not—if you’d stayed, you’d have seen. Dammit, it’s like you want this to go wrong,” Steve accuses. 

“Me? Come on. You’ve been griping since I pulled you out of the cave. It’s not me that wants this to go wrong so forgive me for being a little wary of self-sabotage.” Sam sucks on the tobacco and lets out a puff of smoke. Steve waves away the stinky cloud. 

“You know, that’s not good for you.” 

“Who says? My doctor said it’ll clear up my lungs,” he snickers. 

“Look, alright, there’s work to do but I’m sure it’s here.” 

“Who?” Sam arches a brow. 

“Again, you ran out--” 

“Yeah, yeah, well, we can play doorman, catch her on the way out,” Sam shrugs and pushes his shoulders up against the frosty wind. “Hate this city, too damn cold.” 

“Colder places than here,” Steve grumbles. He can’t put to words the glimmer of a memory; gunshots and smoke from mortars mingling with the breath of shivering shoulders. He shakes off the thought. “So, let’s do it. Let’s wait.” 

“You think your old bones can stand it?” His laugh turns into a hacking cough. 

Steve sneers and rolls his eyes. He buttons up his jacket and approaches the marquee. The theatre is dead, not even a matinee. It’s the best place for a famous face. No one’s around to see him. If they remember him. 

“Stark liked the script, you know?” Sam stands across the double doors. “He laughed though. Says of course you’d only write about yourself.” 

“It’s not about me,” Steve sniffs. 

“Sure,” Sam scoffs and sucks on the cigarette. “Whatever you say.” 

“Come on,” Steve huffs and looks around.  

He’s not used to all these people. What’s wrong with him? This is his home. Or once was. Why did he ever move away? 

The smell of tobacco makes him curl his lip. He never got the habit, even with soldiers in their foxholes. There’s enough stench to go around. 

“So, how do you know?” Sam asks. 

“Know what?” 

“That it’s her.” 

“She’s a good dancer.” 

“Ask me, they were all pretty good, Rogers.” 

“She was... different. She... did you see her? The one with no shoes?” 

“No shoes? Ah Steve, not you and your bleeding heart.” 

“It’s not just that. You weren’t even paying attention. We need someone who can move--” 

“Saw a lot of moving,” Sam snickers. 

“Cut it out,” Steve waves him off. 

The doors open and they both tense. Sam holds in a mouthful of smoke as he looks at his client. Steve shakes his head; not her. The woman rushes off with a frown and tears. The rejects are on their way out. 

Sam puffs out and Steve tucks his hands into his jacket pockets. He waits patiently as the other man bounces on his heels. Others burst out in spurts. One or two, carrying their jackets, tearing their call numbers from their chests, or grumbling under their breath. 

Steve peers around. He catches a few stray gazes. Do they know it’s him? Does anyone recognise the grey old man? They can fix his hair when the time comes. 

The trickle slows and leaves them in a chattering lull. Steve has to admit, it’s an especially frigid January day. An hour at least before a cluster of babbling women emerge. Ah, the callbacks. They’re glowing. Sam taps an unlit smoke on his silver case as he looks them over. She’s not there. 

Steve shakes his head again. Sam rolls his eyes. The pairs and trios flit off, rubbing palms together, blowing into their bare hands, tapping away in their tapered heels. 

“We missed her. Should’ve kept those glasses on,” Sam feels around with his lighter, balancing the cigarette between his lips. 

“I wouldn’t,” Steve insists. 

Sam sighs in frustration as his search comes up fruitless. “Where’s that dang--” 

The door opens again and a woman tumbles out, her coat catching as it closes behind her. She squeaks and turns to pull herself free. She keeps one foot off the pavement, only her toe touching. Steve stands straight and tears his hands free of his jacket. Sam tweaks his head. 

“Say, miss, you’re missing something,” Sam muses. 

The woman spins and looks down at her feet, “um, yes, sir. I... know.” 

She grabs the front of her coat and holds it closed against a gale. Steve can’t stop staring. He’s almost dumbfounded. Sam clears his throat and puts away his cigarette as he catches his eyes. Steve nods. 

“Well, honey, what if I told you I could get you a new shoe?” Sam grins. 

Satyr 

The music ends. There’s less than twenty women left on the stage. The sweat drips from your hairline, glazing over your eyelids and cheeks. You ready for another round. 

“2, 14, 28, 29, 33, 41. Come get your slips for the call back. The rest, thank you for coming.” The grey-haired man sat among the front row says as he stands. “Call backs are tomorrow at nine.” 

Without any further acknowledgement, the six observers shuffle out in a row. You look down at the paper pinned to your dress. ‘14’. You follow the other chosen dancers to the stage manager as he hands out yellow slips of paper. 

“You show up without this, you ain’t gettin’ in,” he snarls.  

You take yours and smile. You can’t believe it. You can hardly fathom that you’re in New York or auditioning for Broadway. You got a call back! It’s not a guarantee but it’s something. 

Yet the good news comes with a new set of worriers. You don’t have a place to stay. You can save the bus fare for your way home but for what? One night’s stay. You’re not sure you thought this out very well.  

You go backstage and stop as you wiggle your toes. Oh yes, your shoes. You look in the corner where you tossed them. You find both your stockings but only one flat. You frown and spin around. 

There’s a grumble among the other women. Some in an elated hush, excited for the next day, others droning in a disappointed murmur. You feel bad. You could as easily be one of the let downs. 

“Hey, um,” you stop the blonde named Carla, “have you seen a shoe that looks like this?” 

Her eyes drift over and she curls her lip. She scoffs and flicks her fingers in your direction. You frown as she struts off. You spin and continue to look. 

The backstage area clears out as you skim every inch of the floor. Where could it be? A shadow looms over your desolate mission. You turn around to face Judith and her blunt bob. 

“There’s a matinee. You better get out of here,” she says. 

“Yes, ma’am, but my shoe, you see,” you show your right shoe again. 

“I’m not a school marm. It’s not my responsibility to keep track of your things,” she sniffs. “Go on, take that yellow ticket before I rescind it.” 

“Oh, okay, yes, ma’am. Thank you,” you attempt a smile, “I really enjoyed dancing today.” 

Her brow tweaks but the rest of her face remains as still as stone. You shuffle away and grab your coat and bag, left on the floor in the carelessness of the other dancers claiming their own. You hurry off, still without shoes on, and don’t stop until you’re in the lobby. 

You stop and sit and pull on your stockings. The sweat has cooled to a slimy sheen as your dress sticks to your skin. You put on your single shoe and contemplate the walk to the station. No shoe, no place to stay, this seems like less of a dream and more of a nightmare. 

You get up and cross the lobby floor. You push open the outer door, the wind offering extra weight as you lean into it with your shoulder. As you do, you trip over the lip of the threshold and nearly find yourself on the sidewalk. 

Your coat is trapped in the door and you quickly spin to tug it free. You balance on one foot, the cold gale swirling around you. You put only your big toe to the ground to regain your balance. Should you just hop down to the station? 

You only then notice the man to your right. He makes himself taller as he stands straight and slips his hands free from his pocket. The man at your other shoulder shifts in turn. He draws your attention first as he speaks. 

“Say, miss, you missing something?” He remarks. 

You twitch and look down at your feet as he stares at your shoe, “um, yes, sir, I... know.” 

You pull your coat shut and hug it around your front. It’s awfully chilly today. Your bag hangs heavily from your shoulder, though you didn’t think to pack a scarf. The man clears his throat as he puts a cigarette in a silver case and tucks it inside his jacket. He glances at the other man and back to you. 

“Well, honey, what if I told you I could get you a new shoe?” He smirks. 

Your brows pop up high on your forehead, “well, that would be mighty kind of you.” 

“Mighty kind?” He echoes and again his eyes flick to the other man. 

You turn to get a look at the other sentinel. You nearly cry out in surprise. No! Really?! It can’t be-- 

You know it’s him. There some silver in his blond and a few lines deeper around his eyes. Quite a few but not to his detriment. And his posture, you would know it anywhere. 

“Steve Rogers?” You blurt out without meaning to. 

He seems just as surprised as he puts his hand to the chest of his jacket and his throat bobs, “you recognise me?” 

“Course I do,” you smile in a glow of marvel, “you’re... you’re... alive.” 

He tilts his head and his blue eyes wander above your head. You put your hand to your cheek as you realise what you’ve said. The other man laughs once more. 

“I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t mean--” you sputter. “I love Golden Stars. It’s one of my favourites. I know the finale goes--” you raise your arms in a mimic of a couples dance, “1, 2-3, 1 2-3, 1-2 3...” you perfectly make the steps. 

He stares at you, speechless. Your embarrassment swells. Oh my, you’re really making a fool of yourself. 

“Well, she’s got the moves,” the other man drawls, “but can ya sing, darling?” 

“I can give it a try—er, here?” You look around the street. 

“You’re not from here, are you?” He chuckles as you turn to him, “go on, these people have seen worse than that.��� 

“Oh, well, er... um,” you swallow and search your repertoire; all you can recall is that same sequence from Rogers’ famous Golden Stars. You take a breath and clear your diaphram, “Golden stars in my eyes, golden stars at my heels. Olden days passin’ by, fading flames dancin’ high. My baby’s shine can never die...” 

You continue on, focusing on the moment, though you have no idea why they’re asking for a song. Still, you could never dream of meeting Steve Rogers. Ever. It’ll be a story, even if it’s a foolish one. 

You quiet as you run out of lyrics and sway, peering between the men. They’re deathly quiet. You don’t know what to say. 

“That bad?” You ask with a tinkling chuckle. 

The man to your left snorts, “let me introduce myself. Sam Wilson, and you are?” 

“Satyr, sir, I just came from an audition,” you explain. 

“Oh, we know,” he offers his hand and you shake it. “How’s about we get you some dancing shoes, if you’re interested in doing more of that.” 

“What do ya mean?” You bat your lashes as your heart thumps. 

“We saw you. In there,” Steve speaks at last. “You’re really good.” 

You turn to him and smile even bigger, “oh, thank you. You have no idea how much that means.” 

“Not as much as it’d mean if you hear us out,” Steve counters.  

You give him a curious look and shrug, “I don’t got nowhere to be until tomorrow morning.” 

“Great. Perfect,” he says, “Sam, where’s that joint we went to last night? It was quiet there.” 

[billiereid]

Jealousy: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Warnings: Rated R. This content is intended for readers ages 18 years and older. Minors, do not interact.

Contains: Jealous, possessive behavior. Mention of oral sex.

Summary: I believe that BBC Sherlock is an inherently jealous person, and he is quite possessive over his friends. Imagine how much worse it would be if he had a partner. Here are some headcanons on what Sherlock Holmes is like when he's jealous over his partner.

Sherlock is, inherently, jealous as a person. 

He isn’t going to go around telling people that. But now that he’s finally found a person he cares for as much as you, he isn’t going to just let someone take you away from him. 

Regardless of how well he knows, in his heart, that you aren’t going anywhere.

Sherlock instantly becomes the most insufferable person ever when he’s jealous, which, let's be honest, is saying something for him.

Although the style of his insufferable-ness depends on the situation.

For example, if a random man flirts with you while you’re out, he’ll make deductions about him out loud, while he’s away. Partially to prove to you that the other person is not worth your time, and partially to reassure himself.

“That man rolls his own cigarettes, and it’s not even quality tobacco,” Sherlock will say with a scoff and an eyeroll before you’ve ever even realized someone was flirting with you. “He can’t even get his own vices right.”

In this case, all it takes is some affection from you in private to reassure him. 

However, let’s say you meet someone at work. You become friends with them, and somehow Sherlock feels threatened by this. 

In this case, it’s like Sherlock has an entire grieving process before he realizes that you love him, and that you aren’t going to leave him for this other person.

At first, he’ll go about trying to find things out about the other person to try and convince himself that he is, in fact, better for you than the other person. He becomes very judgemental, even by Sherlock’s standards.

Next, he’ll become annoying.

I mean really annoying. 

He’ll be going through your books and journals. He’ll show up to your job unannounced, just to see you. He’ll comment on every little thing you do. He’ll become irritable and snarky. 

The best thing to do in these cases is to match his energy. Knock this man down a peg, please.

Eventually, he’ll become very affectionate. 

Any second Sherlock can sneak alone with you, his hands and lips are anywhere he can reach. 

Specifically, he finds his head between your legs more often, his lips caressing each and every part of you with his tongue. 

He doesn’t even realize what he’s doing. He doesn’t know that he’s trying to prove to both you and himself that he is much better for you than anyone else.