#I FORGOT ALL ABOUT THE PISS VODKA

[oxventurequotes]

johnny: roll at disadvantage because you're full of piss-vodka

dob: i hate how often you have to say that

[tyunzonlystar]

Run away with me?

Choi yeonjun

Genre: smut, strangers to fwb to lovers, non-idol au

Warnings: non!idol au, brief mention of abuse, daddy kink, semi-public sex, mentions of bullying,fwb to lovers, slight dirty talk, blowjob (m!receiving), robbing a bank, fake names (yj is called “jungwoo” for a scene, making out, marking, fingering (f!receiving), eating out, (f!receiving), slight spit kink, cum eating, p in v, squirting, dom!yeonjun, sub!reader, unprotected sex,lmk if I forgot anything!!

Word count: 1.8k

Ending is rushed and I could only add ten pics so that’s why the dividers are only at the end not proofread either😭

Minors dni‼️‼️‼️‼️

It all started back in the third year of highschool. He had seen you crying in the field and decided to approach you. 

“Are you okay? Why are you crying? I’m Yeonjun by the way.” 

“o-oh…I’m y-y/n.”

“That's a cute name for a cute girl. But why're you crying?”

“I’m being bullied by some guys in the year above me.. A-And they shoved me into my locker and a piece of metal c-cut my back..”

“Let's go to the nurse, okay? And you can sit with me at lunch if you want too..”

“R-Really? You wanna sit with me? At lunch? Where everyone can see?”

“Yeah! I mean I don't have any friends and I'd like you to be my friend.”

“Okay! Thank you, Yeonjun.”

And that's how your friendship began! Then college came around and you guys realized that you only had each other  and nobody would approach you two since you were both loners and never got invited to anything. So one day he had invited you to his dorm to smoke weed and get drunk. 

3 bottles of vodka and 6 joints later you were both horny and pissed and what else can you do when there's only one other person in the room? Correct! You fuck.

“Oh shit… Jjun…”

“HOLY SHIT! WE JUST FUCKED! AHA! OH MY GOD!”

You were ecstatic. You’ve been in love with Yeonjun since he first spoke to you on that field but you don't know if he likes you back considering he laughed after he took your virginity. 

“Jjun do you remember when we first became friends with benefits?”

“Yeah we were high and drunk. Why?”

“Dunno.”

“Shit.”

“What?”

“I’m staying with my parents for the whole week so we can’t hang out until next week. I gotta go n/n.”

“Alright. Bye Jjun.”

“Bye y/n.”

Disconnected.

You were always bored without Yeonjun being around. And now you can't see him for a week! What are you gonna do without him being balls deep inside you four hours before college? What are you gonna do after college without him? You can’t just go to your hangout spot and smoke weed on your own, can you? Who are you gonna rant to about your problems? You can't call or text him since his parents hate you for “having no manners”. This week is gonna drag. He’s your only friend. The one you gossip with. The one you talk to before and after class. The one you eat your lunch with. The one you vape with behind the building. The one who protects you from assholes. And now he’s an hour away at his parents place. You know everything about his parents. Everything. You know that they abuse him. And that's his biggest secret.

 Shit.. Is he gonna be okay? 

You lay there on your bed overthinking about him. No. About everything. Him, upcoming exams, your own life, your parents. The list goes on. 

Hours of tossing and turning every night, unable to fall asleep without Yeonjuns ‘goodnight’ text. It’s only been 4 days without him and you’re going crazy, snapping at everyone who looks at you weirdly or stares at you for too long, getting angry when your face id doesn't work since your hair is in braids. And now it’s Thursday night. You check the time: 2:06 am. For fucks sake! You tried going to sleep at 11! You have college in less than six hours! 

Walking to your kitchen, your phone pings. A text from..

Yeonjun? 

What the fuck is he doing messaging you? He never messages you when he's with his parents. Sighing, you unlock your phone and read the text.

“She hurt me again, y/n. I also broke her favorite vase when I fell.”

“Jjun, what the fuck happened?”

“I went to the bathroom nd shut the door too loudly and i fucking woke her up!”

“Do you want me to get a taxi to you and you can come back to the dorms?”

“No y/n. They’ll just come to our dorms and take me back to them.”

“I don't know what else to suggest, Yeonjun.”

“Run away with me?”

“What?”

“Run away with me. Come get a taxi and go to the park around the corner from my parents. Bring bags for like 3 outfits, money, food and water to last us, weed, vapes and a hair brush and dry shampoo.”

“Okay. I’ll be over in an hour.”

“Thank you, sir.” You say to the taxi driver before getting out and running over to Yeonjun who’s sitting on the swings.

“So.. Where the fuck are we gonna go?” You ask as you sit on the swing next to him.

“Anywhere.”

“What about college?”

“We’ll start a new life. I mean we’re 20. We have our GCSEs and we don't really need college. We’ll figure something out.”

He leads you to a store to buy burner phones so that nobody can track you down. 

“Just fucking throw it!”

“But it’s an iphone!”

“Do you want people to track us down, y/n?”

“No…”

“Then fucking throw it!”

You groan loudly before throwing your phone off the cliff into water

“There’s an abandoned car park somewhere around here.”

“We’ve been walking for like 4 hours, Jjun. And we’re in the middle of nowhere. I don’t see any fucking car park.”

“Shut up. It’s near. Stop fucking complaining.”

“Stop talking to me like that.”

“Like what, sweetheart? Does it turn you on?”

“Jjun, stop it..”

“See! I told you it's near!”

The car park looked like a dump. I mean it was expected since it's abandoned but there's no other building on site other than run down convenience stores and like two clothing stores. Makes no sense since there's no houses or anything for miles. It’s fine for the time being. 

“Oh shit, baby.. Keep going…making me f-feel so good..s-such a good girl..”

You look up at him through your lashes as you take more of him down your throat, gagging around his length. He throws his head back at the overwhelming pleasure building in him.

“Shit. Shit. SHIT! FUCK! Baby, im so close..shit…so fucking close.. You wanna be a good girl for daddy, don't you?” You pat his thigh twice as a signal for yes.

“Then can you swallow daddy's cum like a good girl?” He lets out a low moan as he shoots his warm load down your throat.

“Daddys good girl aren't you?” “y-yes..”

It’s been three weeks since you and Yeonjun ran away and god knows if anyones bothered looking for you. You both ran out of money so you couldn't buy any more food or water but Yeonjun had a so-called ‘smart’ idea.

“What?! I’m not robbing a bank with you! If we get put in jail we can’t fuck or gossip!”

“Pleaseeeee! We’ll dye our hair and we’ll rob it with masks on and make ourselves look bigger than we are by putting on a fuck ton of layers!”

“Fine.”

“We’re also gonna need fake names.”

“Okay uhm is ‘F/N’ good?”

“Yeah. and call me uhm Jungwoo.”

“Yes, sir.”

“RUN! FUCKING RUN!”

“I AM RUNNING!”

“YES BUT NOT FAST ENOUGH!”

“I CANT RUN ANY FASTER JUNGWOO! I'M 5'5 REMEMBER?!”

“F/N, I DON’T CARE HOW SHORT YOU ARE JUST RUN FUCKING FASTER!”

You never thought you would rob a bank with your best friend yet here you are counting money.

“450,267,934.”

It was $450,267,964 but you bought hair dye. $10 on bleach since Yeonjun had red hair, $10 on pink hair dye for you and another $10 on black hair dye for Yeonjun.

“There's a house a few miles away for sale so we can buy it.”

“We’ll have to give them rent though.”

“Not if we buy the house to own it.”

“Ohhh. Okay let's go!”

“Sit still.”

“It burns, y/n!”

“Shut up, it's the same brand I used when I dyed your hair red.”

“Now you sit still!”

“You're so rough!”

“Yeah, but you like it rough, don't you sweetheart?”

The shower looked like a unicorn murder scene with your pink hair dye mixing with the water along with Yeonjuns black hair dye but it turned a pretty dark pink color.

“Can you wash my back, Jjun?”

“I guess so” He sighs dramatically, adding a petty eye roll into the mix as he slowly rubs the shower gel over your back. His hands slowly grip your waist, pulling you flush against him. Your eyes widen as you feel his hardness pressing against your lower back.

“Jjun…”

“Please baby…”

You softly sigh, knowing you can't say no to him and his naturally pouty lips. You both quickly wash out the conditioner and wash off the soap from your bodies and the text thing you know you're pressed up against the bathroom door, Yeonjuns tongue invading your mouth. Yeonjun grips your thighs and carries you to your new shared bedroom before throwing you on the bed before his lips attack your neck, biting and sucking softly on your flesh.

“mm…Jjunie…please..” You whimper quietly. 

“Please what, baby?”

“F-Fuck me..please..need you s-so bad..”

“Good girl.”

Yeonjun kisses down your chest, leaving splotchy marks as he praises you every now and again. He looks up at you through his lashes as he settles between your thighs before his tongue peeks out to taste your wetness.

“You taste so good, baby.” He groans, the vibration against your clit making you squirm. Yeonjun nuzzles his face further between your thighs, his nose bumping against your clit as he sloppily makes out with your dripping hole.

“Jjunie-” And before you can finish your sentence yeonjun shoves 2 fingers in your needy hole, curling and finger fucking you as fast as his arm would let him as you continuously clench around him.

“Gonna cum for daddy, angel?” He asks before his lips wrap around your clit sucking harshly before you can even reply. You moan out his name like a chant as you cum on his fingers. Yeonjun sucks your essence off his fingers before his tongue dives back into your hole, collecting your newly passed orgasm. His thumb presses against your bottom lip waiting for you to open your mouth before spitting your own cum into your mouth.

“Swallow.” “Good girl. Are you ready for daddy?”

“Mhm..please..”

He kisses you harshly as he guides his dick to your hole before slowly pushing into you, swallowing up all your moans and whines. Without warning he was hammering into you, hips slamming against yours with each hard thrust. His hand gently snakes around your throat, applying just enough pressure to make your brain go fuzzy with pleasure.

“D-daddy…f-feels so good! Mmphf!”

“Shhh..i know it feels good baby..”

Yeonjun removes his hand from your throat so he can roughly rub your clit, bringing you closer to the edge.

“Daddy! ‘m g-gonna cum!” You whine as you clench around him, making him groan.

“Go on, angel. Cum for me” And with that your vision goes blurry and you repeat his name like a ritual as you squirt all over his cock, your juices dripping onto the bed sheets.

“You did so well for me, baby. Be my girlfriend?”

“What?”

“Would you like to be my girlfriend?”

“YES! YES! YES!”

Years later nobody found you and Yeonjun after you ran away with each other and you now live a happy life with each other and your two kids <33

[bouncybongfairy]

felix catton x reader where felix cheats and tries to win reader back 🫣🫣🫣

Nice Try

Felix Catton x Fem Reader Smut

Summary: A week after Felix cheats, you attempt to end your sulking by going to a party. He is there and convinces you to come back to his dorm; all in an attempt to win you back.

Word Count: 2.0k+

Account Ref: @kaionyx

TW: Drunken Sex, Nasty Smut

<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

Things have been quite stressful lately. You’d already been struggling to keep up with all your assignments. Now with the recent infidelity in your relationship, it was near impossible to focus. Truly nothing made you cringe more than watching a man beg for forgiveness after cheating. Felix had been texting you all week, trying to salvage the relationship the two of you had. It just wasn’t happening, trying to find the respect you had for him was like looking for a unicorn. You were currently in your dorm, getting ready to go out. It was that time of the semester where parties were every weekend and the smell of hopelessness lingered in everyone's nose. Being confined to your room due to a mild depression, it was finally time to go out and be a whore. The first couple days you were feeling guilty for not responding to Felix. Now you couldn’t be more excited to go out, not even with any girlfriends. On a mission to get dicked down, you start doing your hair and makeup. Drawing on a thick wing of eyeliner and complementing it with huge eyelashes. It had been a week since the last time you wore makeup, which caused you to feel quite full of yourself. After getting dressed and making sure your purse had all the essentials before leaving.

The air outside was cold and crisp, enough to make your stomach tighten as you walked. Hitting your pen as you made your way towards the frat house. It was still pretty early so the lawn wasn’t completely thrashed with bottles and drunken students. Immediately you head towards the kitchen, making yourself a drink. Your face lights up when you see the sour cherry syrup sitting next to the Ciroc bottles. Mixing the two into a solo cup and making your way back into the living room. Felix was there, leaning against one of the walls. He immediately spots you, walking quite briskly to greet you. Asking why you haven’t been taking any of his calls or responding to messages. The fact that he was even asking was pissing you off, like he forgot he cheated on you. 

“Maybe you could come over to my place? I have a surprise for you,” he says, you could tell he was a little tipsy. When he could see you weren’t amused he started finding other reasons for you to come over, “not to mention you left a lot of shit at my place,” he says, resting his hand on your hips. You allow him to do so but not let him pull you closer. 

“Ask me again when I'm drunker,” you say, laughing and turning to walk in the other direction. 

Ending up spotting a few friends from your social science class. Grouping in with them as you drank, they all seemed quite excited to see you out and about. Knowing you’d recently been through a breakup, they were encouraging you to drink and smoke. You happily obliged, constantly making trips to the kitchen to refill your cup. Dancing on your friends, enjoying the energy of everyone around you. Like everyone was letting out their demons one way or another. However, you started feeling quite sticky, the air thick with smoke. You excuse yourself and make your way to the front yard. Needing a bit of fresh air and wanting to smoke a blunt. It was still quite nippy outside but the vodka blanket was keeping you warm. Lighting the blunt and taking a deep drag, tilting your head back and exhaling. Admiring the moon as you looked up at the sky. Suddenly you smell menthol, reminding you of Felix. Sure enough when you look for the smell, you see him standing a couple feet away from you. Just your luck you’d run into him outside while having a smoke. His eyes light up and he walks over to greet you. He trips a little on his way over, which makes you chuckle. “As embarrassing as that was, hearing your laugh really made it worth it,” he says, the cheesy pickup line made you roll your eyes. 

“Who’s dad gave you that one to use?” you joke, taking another drag. 

“Oh come one, don’t act like you don’t miss me,” he says, offering you a hit on his ciggy, “I know you love a good puff when you’re drunk,” he says, taking the blunt out of your hand to insinuate he wanted to trade. 

Due to your inebriation, you were a little more willing to entertain his foolishness. Taking a drag, closing your eyes to enjoy the fresh feeling of menthol stinging your chest. Not used to the potency of a cig, you start coughing a bit. He was making small talk with you, basically running down this past week's events. You weren’t really paying attention, instead admiring him as he spoke. The two of you had a very active and healthy sex life. Banging like rabbits, it didn’t matter where or when. When you’re used to fucking at least once a day, a week seemed like a century. He looked amazing with the porch lights shining down on him. Illuminating his massive figure, he bellowed so much smoke from his exhales; nearing incinerating the blunt into ash with just a few hits. The smell of his cologne flooding your nose, giving you a small level of comfort. 

“So have you thought about hanging out tonight?” he asks, tilting his head to the side. 

At first you were going to decline his offer, however you were in desperate need to catch a dick. It was also nice to have sex in an apartment as opposed to a dorm room with thin walls. Not to mention it would be quite dangerous to be walking alone on campus while cross faded. It was actually nice walking together while holding each other. Having his arm draped over your shoulder, hand caressing the soft skin of your neck. Running your hand up and down his arm, blushing when you felt goosebumps on his skin. Felix smoked your blunt into a roach, so you were passing the pen back and forth to each other. His apartment was only two blocks from campus, luckily because the both of you were wasted. You held onto his belt loops once you finally got to his apartment. Waiting patiently for him to unlock the door, immediately the smell of cologne and stale smoke. To some it might be gross but for you it was nostalgic; reminding you of a simpler time, when you were ignorant to who Felix really was. He was turning on the stereo, grabbing a bottle of Jewel of Russia vodka. 

“Is that the surprise?” you asked, as he filled two shot glasses.

“No give me a second,” he said, going back into the bedroom, when he came out he was holding a teddy bear with a shirt that said: sorry for being an asshole. With a box of Martin’s Chocolatier chocolates. You couldn’t help but laugh, as sweet as the gesture was, it was humorous at its core. When you’re reminded that these gifts are because he cheated. 

“Aww you’re so sweet,” you play along, acting like this made up for shit.

“Really? I don’t know if you’ve been getting my voicemails but I want you to know that I’m so fucking sorry. I’d do anything to show you how much I regret taking you for granted,” he said. 

“Anything?” you asked suggestively, letting your body weight be supported by the kitchen island. 

“Fucking anything,” he says, eyeing you like a oasis in a desert. 

You use your hand gesturing to him to come closer. Without hesitation he approaches you. Using the counter behind you to support himself, pressing his body completely against yours. You felt like fire had been ignited on your cheeks and ears. Grateful that your makeup was hiding how truly flustered you were. He was breathing heavily down onto you, the smell of liquor coming from his breath was making you wet. Both of you were testing each other, waiting to see who was going to make the first move. The tension in the room was enough to make you swell and ache. Watching him eye you down like a piece of meat. Wanting to pounce but being stubborn, wanting him to kiss you first. Suddenly, he picks you up. Now you were sitting on the counter, him standing between your legs. An involuntary gasp leaves your mouth from the sudden movement. The height difference between the two of you is now gone, making direct eye contact. Lips hovering over each other, nothing but a couple centimeters keeping the distance. Wrapping your legs around his hips, making his dick print press against you. The friction made him smash his mouth against yours. 

The kiss was sloppy and rough. Biting and sucking on each other's lips till they were raw. Wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him as close as possible. He uses his arm to clear off the counter. Shit catering to the floor, not that either of you gave a fuck. You unbuckle his belt and unzip his jeans, exposing himself. Following suit, pulling your dress and the panties to the side. Nothing could have pulled the two of you out of the moment even for a second; not even a condom. He sticks his fingers in your mouth, collecting saliva to wet himself down. Moaning as he practically finger fucked your mouth, looking at you like he couldn’t wait to rip you apart. After stroking himself for a couple moments, he was lining his head up with your entrance. Letting your head fall back onto the cold counter top, becoming impatient with waiting. He finally slid in, after having no contact for a week, the feeling of him filling you was euphoric. You pulled him down by the hair and for a while you both just embarrassed each other. Both of you enjoying each other's bodies after being apart both emotionally and physically. Once in a while you’d clench around him, enjoying the fullness; he’d rock his hips feeling you walls suffocating him with an intense heat. 

He began fucking into you, tired of wasting time. Coiling your fingering in his shaggy hair, pulling slightly as he kissed and sucked hickies onto your shoulder and neck. A thin layer of sweat starts to coat both your bodies as the pace quickens. Feeling close to coming, you push him away. Sitting up on your elbows, he pulls out and away looking confused and concerned. 

“Take me to the couch.” You said. 

He smirks and carries you over, taking a seat with you on his lap. Facing him while on your knees, he starts to knead and play with your chest. You line his cock up and sink down until you fully take his member into you. He gasps at how tight and wet you felt around him, a groan leaves your mouth. Starting to bounce up and down, slowly at first. Lifting your all the way from his tip back down to the base. His eyebrows were furrowed and his mouth hung open as he watched. Working yourself on his cock, watching him get more and more flustered. Made you feel formidable, seeing the power your body wielded over him. Moving from your knees onto your toes, allowing you to bounce faster. He took this opportunity to start pounding up into you at an animalistic pace. Even though he was absolutely obliterating your cervix, the look on his face alone almost made you cum. He was bright red with sweat dripping, putting his heart and soul into destroying your pussy. 

He stops, picking you up without saying anything and walks the two of you into the bathroom. Setting you down before lamming the lights on and ripping the shower curtain off the hooks, causing them to fly to the ground. Seeing how desperate and rough he was driving you crazy. Still carrying you he slams your back into the shower wall. Pressing his full body weight onto you, pushing himself deep into you. Now that his hips and torso were helping support your weight, he reaches over and cuts the water on. Not even caring that the two of you were still clothed. The hot water rains down as he starts furiously slamming himself in you. Wet hair covered your face slightly, fucking up your makeup and lashes. Normally you’d be insecure about how ridiculous your face looked, makeup running down your face. He was making you feel like a pornstar, like you were the only thing that could satisfy him. Fucking into you so hard that all the bottles on the shower rack were bouncing loudly. He was panting, water dripping off the hair that was flopped on the front of his face; just slightly covering his eyes. Moaning so loud it was practically screaming, tightening around him as you got close. 

Feeling you start to tighten and convulse made him cum into you. Hard thrusts as he moaned loudly into your ear. Making eye contact as the two of you came together. The way you could feel him get harder, and the last couple thrust become more slippery only made you want more. Catching his breath and turning the water off. Instead of stopping, he just walked back to the bedroom. Standing at the foot of the bed before falling forward, so that the two of you were missionary on the bed. After fucking for so long, the two of you were both extremely sensitive. Almost to the point where you wanted to stop, but when he started rocking his hip again you couldn't get enough. Cum leaking out of you slightly, making his cock slide in and out so easily. You let your body go limp and he slowly trusted, increasing his pace. Holding the back of your knees up, allowing him to frantically chase his orgasm at a better angle. Due to you having recently orgasm, it didn’t take long before you were the both of you were teetering the edge of your climaxes. Gripping onto the blanket as you felt him fill you against. Bucking and rutting uncontrollably while moaning. He collapses next to you, both of you practically half dead. While he laid there passed out, you got up. Legs shaking but still determined to take the soaked clothes you had on. Putting on a pair of his sweatpants and hoodie. Reaching out trying to cuddle you, he notices you were up; dressed and on your phone. 

“Thank you for giving us a second chance,” he said groggily. 

“Who said that?” you asked, grabbing your purse before meeting the Uber you just ordered.

[widowpunx]

So freaking happy someone is writing wandanat, I get so tired of all reader insert stuff. Can you write one where G!PNatasha takes Wanda to her first club to celebrate her birthday and some hot dom starts hitting on Wanda and it pisses Nat off and so naturally she ends up getting really possessive and they end up having fantastic drunk sex and Nat figures out that Wanda may be a little kinkier than she realized.

I'm having a super rough day so that would really be a silver lining in all of it.

My Favorite Need

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff/Natasha Romanoff

Rated: Explicit [Just 18+]

Words: 3,614

This work contains: Explicit Sex Scenes. Natasha Romanov Has a Penis, Fingerfucking, Vaginal Sex, Dirty Talk, Drunk Sex. Possessive Natasha Romanov, Sub Wanda Maximoff, Dom Natasha Romanov, Jealous Natasha Romanov, Wanda is a Tease.

English is not my first language. Sorry for any mistake

Hope you enjoy and makes your day a thousand times better

Wanda had no plans for her birthday after all the unfortunate events that happened the last few weeks, like escaping the raft and becoming an international fugitive but her teammates decided to cheer her up. Steve baked her a birthday cake, Sam gave her the last two books of the Harry Potter saga of which she was a great lover and Natasha gave her a nice black leather jacket and a nice silver necklace with a pretty scarlet jewel which were to Wanda's liking, she loved leather jackets and the necklace was a nice gift. Wanda couldn't help that nice flutter in her chest when Natasha placed the delicate necklace around her neck.

For the first time in a long time Wanda was very excited about her 26th birthday. The surprises seemed to be endless as Natasha decided to invite her to a nightclub for the first time. She was anxious to meet a nightclub for the first time in her life, it could be a fun place to dance. Natasha assured her that this nightclub was the best in Prague. Steve didn't agree with the girls going to a public place like that as it might attract attention but Natasha assured him that she would take care of Wanda. While Steve and Sam would be watching the surroundings of the safe house Natasha and Wanda would be celebrating.

Wanda wore a black dress that Pepper had given her on her last birthday. The dress highlighted her figure and her red hair, she wore black makeup around her green eyes to make them shine even more. Natasha picked her up at the old safe house and gave her a warm hug.

"Happy birthday, little witch." Natasha told her with a sweet crooked smile as her eyes moved up and down admiring the young sokovian girl's beauty. "You look beautiful."

"Thank you," Wanda told her, smiling back and trying not to blush. Natasha looked great just in black jeans, combat boots and a black leather jacket and her red hair shining and flowing down her shoulders.

"Come on, I'll show you what a real party is like. Just you and me and vodka to celebrate this very special occasion." Natasha told her, leading Wanda out of the safe house where a black audi was waiting parked on the street.

They arrived at the place and got in without having to wait, thanks to the fact that Natasha knew the owner of the nightclub. The nightclub was full of people, strobe lights all over the place while the hard beats of the music makes every part of Wanda vibrate. Natasha took Wanda's hand and led her to the dance floor. Natasha started to move to the music, and Wanda felt a little awkward as she didn't know how to dance, however Wanda let herself go as she felt Natasha holding her close and swaying to the music.

Wanda smiled broadly as she felt a happiness fill her chest, for a moment she forgot that she was a wanted fugitive and instead she was a normal girl enjoying her birthday. Natasha and Wanda drank some vodka to start the night, however by the fourth vodka Wanda started to feel dizzy but happy.

The happiness inside her increased as she noticed Natasha looking at her with sparkling eyes. Wanda wondered if Natasha had realized her feelings. Wanda had felt more than friendship for the spy for a long time but after Natasha released her from the raft her crush became more intense. Wanda wanted to tell her how she felt, but she didn't know how.

She didn't want to risk embarrassing herself and end up heartbroken if Natasha didn't feel the same way. Worse yet Wanda was afraid of ruining her friendship with Nat. Maybe Natasha just saw her as a little sister.

"You want a beer this time?" asked Natasha, after dancing to several songs.

"Yes, please." nodded Wanda as she finished her vodka tonic, her cheeks a little flushed. "A beer sounds great."

" Wait here, I'll get the beers." Natasha told her with a smile, before going towards the bar.

Wanda was left alone on the dance floor, and took the opportunity to look around. She saw many people dancing and drinking minding their own business and everyone seemed to be having a good time. Meanwhile, a drunk man approached her from behind and whispered in her ear.

"Hey, beautiful, what are you doing alone in a place like this?

Wanda was startled and turned to see who it was. She had to make a great effort not to use her magic and throw the drunk guy into the air. He was a tall, muscular man with shaved head in a red shirt and tight jeans. He had an arrogant smile and red eyes that looked at her as if she was a piece of meat.

" I'm not alone." Wanda said, trying to get away.

"Who are you coming with?" asked the drunken man, taking a step forward, "Where is your date? I don't see it anywhere.

"On the bar getting us some drinks," said Wanda nervously. Her heart was pounding as she fiddled with her fingers, a clear sign of nervousness in her.

"Well, while your imaginary friend comes back, why don't we dance a little?" the man said, taking her by the waist and pulling her closer to him. His accent was harsh.

Wanda felt uncomfortable and scared at the same time. She could use her magic but she didn't want to make a fuss and putting Natasha, Sam and Steve at risk if someone called the police. It was unpleasant when the man pressed her against his body and brushed her face with his. She tried to pull away, but he was stronger than she was. Wanda needed her magic.

"Get away from me." Wanda mumbled, her body all tense."

"Come on, doll. Don't be shy," the drunken man said, winking at her. "I can get you out of here and take you to my apartment if you want."

"I don't like you. I'm not crazy to go with drunk idiot like you." Wanda hissed this time not noticing that a very angry Natasha was walking towards them.

"I like it when bitches like you act tough. In the end they're the ones begging for more cock" the man had a nasty grin on his face.

Wanda was about to respond to the asshole for that disgusting comment but a familiar voice interrupted her. "The girl said to let her go, asshole!" Natasha shouted at him, her voice clear and loud over the pounding music.

"Who are you?" said the drunken man confronting Natasha.

"She's my girlfriend." This time it was Wanda who answered as her face reddened at what she had said. She couldn't believe she had said that. Maybe the vodka in her system made her say such nonsense. Internally she was screaming. "Oh shit! Oh shit!" praying that Natasha wouldn't get mad at her for saying they were girlfriends.

Fortunately Natasha played along as she stepped in front of Wanda.

"Girlfriend? Ha ha ha ha I don't believe you." the man said, teasing the two but his smile faded when Natasha pulled Wanda close and kissed her. The first touch of Natasha's lips against hers sent her to heaven. Wanda was speechless, for a moment she forgot how to breathe. She couldn't believe what was happening, it seemed like the world had stopped around them. Natasha was kissing her. It was what she had dreamed of for so long.

As a smile appeared on her lips, Wanda opened her mouth allowing Natasha to deepen the kiss. They kissed passionately, and forgot about everything else. The heat of Natasha's body pressed against hers was totally intoxicating, Wanda didn't want this moment to ever end. Natasha's lips tasted like vodka and cherry. Wanda realized that Natasha was a fucking good kisser. The man looked at them with rage and helplessness, fortunately the security of the place arrived and took him out of the nightclub.

Natasha was the first to break the kiss to the bad luck of Wanda who could spend all night kissing Nat. The redhead whispered in her ear. "Come with me."

Wanda didn't have time to answer she simply followed Natasha who led her up some stairs to the second floor of the club where there were some private rooms with beds and big curtains at the entrances to offer some privacy to those couples who wanted to have an intimate moment

"Oh god! What are you doing, Natasha?!" Wanda gasped as Natasha pressed her up against the wall.

"So did you say you were my girlfriend, right?"

"Sorry, Nat. That was a very stupid thing to say." Wanda began to apologize. However she couldn't believe the peculiar situation she found herself in.

"No need to apologize, little witch. I actually like the idea of you being my girlfriend." Natasha chuckled as she used her body to press Wanda against the wall. The witch almost groaned when Natasha cupped her left tit and gently squeezing it. Wanda gasped as Natasha laugh and pressed warm kisses on her neck.

Natasha has had her eyes on the Sokovian girl ever since she joined the team, but with every battle and every moment with her only served to make Natasha realize that she loved the girl. Wanda was sweet and smart, and incredibly gorgeous with a pretty face and bright green eyes, and also a gorgeous pair of large tits and a sweet ass. It was just a crush she said to herself the last two years but after what happened with that drunken asshole she'd decided that she would try to make Wanda hers.

Wanda couldn't help but feel a little excited when Natasha pulled down the cleavage of her dress and exposed her bare tits. The touch of Natasha was something more. Everything was happening so fast but at the same time so slow. She wanted to have something really intimate with Natasha. She would be lying if she said no. Wanda has spent whole days fantasizing about Natasha. Her fantasies and desires had only gotten hotter since she discovered Natasha's secret.

One sleepless morning Wanda made herself a cup of tea and started wandering the halls of the complex but abruptly stopped when she noticed noises coming from one of the gyms. Glancing inside she saw Natasha hitting the punching bag. Wanda's mouth went dry as she noticed the view of a very sweaty Natasha practicing some boxing moves. She liked to see the way her arm muscles bulged out. Suddenly her jaw dropped when noticed the outline of a prick on her shorts. Natasha had a penis! The realization almost made her faint. Wanda has never been the same since she discovered Natasha's secret.

Wanda groaned as Natasha pressed her hard against the wall and more forcefully rubbed her stiff nipple. The sokovian witch felt a surge of excitement as her mentor pressed her strong body up against hers. Wanda inhaled sharpy as soon as she could feel a huge bulge rubbing against her crotch.

"Oh god!," Wanda said with wide eyes, her legs were shaking. Natasha's bulge was huge and stiff. Wanda can feel it throbbing against her crotch. She was embarrassed to feel her panties all wet at this point.

"Can you feel it, uh?" Natasha murmured with a smile as she watched Wanda's flushed face.

Wanda didn't have the courage to respond however she nodded as her cheeks grew even redder. She stopped breathing when Natasha took her right hand and slide it down her crotch where her bulging prick was.

"Oh Nat!" Wanda gasped in response as she felt the huge bulge in her jeans. Natasha was awakening a side in her she never knew she had. There was a pleasant tingle between her thighs, and soft throb in her clit. She realized that she was getting wet, very wet under Natasha's touch.

Natasha wasted no time and removed the leather jacket that fell to the floor a minute later leaving Wanda's chest exposed to her eyes with only the small silver necklace with the scarlet jewel adorning her neck.

"Bozhe moi, what a pretty tits," Natasha said, squeezing Wanda's beautiful tits. She couldn't help but pinch her left nipple. That only turned Wanda on. As she continued to kneading her tits, the redhead witch began to get all hot. It was then Natasha slide her free hand slowly worked down her flat belly to the hem of the dress Wanda was wearing.

Wanda shivered when Natasha pressed her soft lips against hers and gave her a hot wet kiss. Natasha was tasting Wanda's mouth and devouring her moans as she began to tug at her wet red panties with her hand. Not wasting time Natasha quickly pushed her index finger into her drooling pussy and began sliding it in and out.

Suddenly Wanda groaned as she threw her head back in pleasure. "Ahhh!" It was a blessing that the loud music of the club drowned out her moan, otherwise they probably would have heard her all the way to the dance floor.

Wanda was breathing hard as Natasha smiled and her finger buried deeper into her pussy. In seconds she began to wildly moan and spread her legs wider as the finger fucked deeper and deeper into her tingling dephts.

"You're super tight, Wanda! What a tight honey pot you have down here, baby!" Natasha hummed in her ear as as added another finger and explore the depths of Wanda's sweet pussy. She couldn't believe how wet the gorgeous witch was, her hand was bathed with her sweet pussy juices.

Wanda was enjoying the pleasant fingerfuck. She was almost was almost there! Ready to cum! Natasha's touch on her pussy were sending thrills up and down her spine. Her head was dizzy and spinning. Not even realizing what she was doing, Wanda giggled and reached down and began kneading Natasha's throbbing cock with her hand.

"Oh yes! Touch me! Yeah! Yeah!" Natasha encouraged her with a devilish smile curving her lips. "Open my pants and pulled out my prick."

Wanda no necesitaba que le dijeran dos veces. She just nodded and bit her lower lips, with her right hand she began to unbutton the pants and lower the zipper. Wanda noticed Natasha's prick seemed to swell and throb as she lowered the zipper. It was a surprise to notice that Natasha didn't wear any underwear, so his huge cock burst out from its confines. Wanda almost drooled as she saw Natasha's beautiful prick protruding from her crotch. It was long and thick with blue veins around it.

Wanda inhaled sharply and grabbed her hard prick as Natasha laughed softly and continued to explore Wanda's wet pussy, playing with her clit. A soft moan fell from her mouth as Wanda began to jerk on Natasha's cock. It seemed to throb in her hand, as the tip drooled droplets of transparent pre-cum.

"Like it, huh?" Natasha asked. The hot flush now covered Wanda's neck and tits.

"Oh yeah! Feels so good!" Wanda nodded in approval and began to moan as she approached orgasm. Her hand wrapped around Natasha's throbbing prick."I love your fingers in me. It feels so good"

"I love to play with your pussy, baby!" Natasha whispered as Wanda continued to jerk her aching cock. She groaned in appreciative ecstasy and began to spread hot kisses on Wanda's neck as she added the third finger and fucked her.

Wanda was ready to reach her climax, and she suspect that by the way Natasha was groaning and kissing her neck, she was ready to cum too. She could hear the slurping sound her fingers were making in her wet pussy. It was sexy to hear that. She couldn't contain herself any longer.

"Oh, Nat! Mmmm that's nice! Mmmm!" Wanda gasped, her throat was dry, her body was melting. Finally she came, moaning and giggling. It was then she felt Natasha's prick throb and spewing cum all over her hand.

Wanda looked down just in time to see Natasha's cumming. She kept stroking Natasha's cock for a long time. It seemed as if she would never stop cumming. Certainly Wanda was amazed at the amount. Her hand was a mess, some ropes of semen fell on the carpeted floor.

"God, that was sexy!" Wanda thought with a smile. She felt an incredible urgency of kneel and lick all Natasha's creamy semen. Without thinking, she put her wet fingers in her mouth and tasted Natasha's semen. She was surprised how delicious the creamy seed tasted, it was a little salty, but it still tasted so delicious.

"Taste good, little slut?" Natasha just laughed in response.

"Uh huh" Wanda nodded with her fingers still stuck in her mouth. Still horny, Natasha gently pushed her down on couch in the middle of the room and said: "Now you horny little slut, it's time to fuck you."

Wanda fell on the couch and watch the dominant redhead standing over her, her thick cock hard throbbing in the air. She hummed softly and grabbed her huge cock and guided it to her glistening cunt hole. "Fuck me hard! I need it so bad! I'm all wet and ready for you!"

For a moment Wanda couldn't believe what she had said, after all, the woman before her was her mentor. But her emotions and her urgent needs were too much for her, and at the moment she just wanted to get fucked by Natasha's huge cock.

"Tell me who do you belong to? Come on I want to hear you say my name!." Natasha had a seductive smile on her face , her hand wrapped around her throbbing prick.

"To you. Only you." Wanda replied shakily and noted the delight in Natasha's eyes as she guiding her prick and inserted the bulbous cockhead between the lips of her pussy. Seeing the lustful expression on Wanda's blushed face, Natasha slowly shoved the inch after inch of her thick cock into her warm tight pussy.

"Ohhhh! Fuck!!" Wanda had to closer her eyes and moaned as Natasha lunged forward, sending her thick cock deeply into her. She was enjoying the new stimulation so much but she thought that she was going to be split in two by Natasha.

Natasha groaned and pulled back for a moment and gave the gorgeous witch a moment to adapt the size before she fucked her. Wanda was shaking up and down as Natasha slowly withdrew her cock till only the tip remained, then she slide it in and out. Slowly she began to stablish a constant hard rhythm. 

"Ohhhh goddd!" Wanda groaned in delight, for the hard thrusts she began to have delicious effects on her semi-naked body. She couldn't believe the sensations that were filling her body. The initial discomfort was vanishing and turning into pleasure as the veiny shaft was slicing through her inflamed and glistening folds.

"Oh, baby! You're so tight and hot for me!" Natasha growled and began to speed up her thrusts. She smiled as she felt Wanda's quivering legs raise up and encircle her ass. Wanda was also smiling but mostly groaning as her feminine hips rose to meet each of her hard thrusts.

Holy shit! Wanda had never been more excited. Natasha was satisfying her more than any person in the world. Natasha was hitting all the sweet spots within her as goosebumps covered her skin.

"I'm cumming! Oh Natasha! I'm cumming!" Wanda giggled happily as her body began to shiver. Her nails raked across Natasha's strong back ass as she pulled her closer. "Cum in me! Oh yes! Give it to me!" She moaned in ecstasy as her drooling pussy convulse and tingle. All the situation was amazing. Her body was burning with intense happiness, her sticky pussy juices ran down onto her inner thighs. Natasha continued fucking her with a devilish smile on her face.

Wanda she was ready to cum again. She climaxed twice in the previous fifteen minutes, but she was ready to cum again. What an incredible experience! Natasha was grunting with eyes closed and pumped her prick into her spasming pussy. Wanda squealed in delight at the sensation. She wanted to feel Natasha's semen filling her pussy and painting her depths..

"Oh, baby, your pussy is so tight, I'm gonna shoot all my cum into you!" Natasha growled as she began to fuck faster into her pussy. "Would you like that?"

"Ohhhh yesss!!" Wanda groaned in delight and closed her eyes, loved the way Natasha was forcing her huge prick into her, each penetration was delicious, splitting her in two and leaving her breathless. Her own orgasm was building and ready to explode like a super nova.

"Faster, baby! ... Fuck me harder and faster!" Wanda was giggling as Natasha give her a few rough thrusts into her cunt and then a torrent of semen exploded from her aching prick. "Oh that's good! Mmmm!" Wanda babbled, her words came out in short heavy breaths. She felt the warm semen filling her and then her tingling pussy dephts around Natasha's cock. For a moment Wanda wished she would never stop cumming as her own orgasm engulfed her body. Wanda was shaking violently and struggling to breath, feeling Natasha's semen ran freely out of her pussy and down her ass.

Finally, Natasha kissed her on the lips and pulled off her semi hard prick "If you don't mind I'd like to continue exploring that kinky side of you little witch."

"I don't mind at all." Wanda laughed tiredly. Her first fuck with Natasha made her eager to repeat more experiences with Natasha. Just having this woman to satisfy the intense desires in her. At the end of the day her 26th birthday turned out better than expected.

[theresamouseinmyhouse]

tim + brentwood characters as boys i was legitimately friends with in high school and think of every single day:

Buzz- Jake (fake names for all of my friends bc privacy reasons) who complained about hanging out with nerds, got into a fistfight with someone else on his football team bc they called us nerds, was thoroughly convinced he'd run laps faster if he was hopped up on pixie stix (i held his backback while he got sick in the bathroom👍👍), he tried to hit on my older sister and she laughed at him, he was so put out he contemplated becoming a monk for a week

Wes: Max, who i helped sneak an entire bottle of orange juice on to the bus to our choir competition, but was unaware he brought a full bottle of vodka as well, ended up crying on our choir teacher for the three hours after the comp and i bought him a box of donuts after school, he did not stop doing this and had severe beef with a kid he knew in 5th grade and hadnt seen since but also hadnt forgotten their name and last i knew, was still awaiting for a dreaded confrontation to eventually come

Kip: Eduardo, who we all thought was studying during lunch but was actually filling his notebook with weird facts he observed about us and also managed to chew several packs of gum at once throughout our math class before the teacher noticed him, didnt know the plot to the clockwork orange so i lied about it for 5 weeks before he read it and called me just to tell me "you lying frog" befire he hung up

Ali: Ángel, who lied several times on separate occasions to the campus security about where people smoked, forgot what chihuahuas were twice, and almost drowned when he was swimming except his older brother got him and he immediately called me while waiting for the ambulance to tell me he almost fucking died, randomly sang a song about crabs he made up throughout the day

Danny: Ben, helped me with my biology homework because i helped him with essays, once released a live rat into the computer classroom because he had beef with the teacher, once texted me at 11 p.m. because he was having a mental breakdown over his chem work before he realized he was actually looking at trig and i told him id shoot him with a tranq gun if he woke me up like this again, kept forgetting how to tie his shoes

Tim: Teddy, he catfished 6 men over the age of 30 by pretending to be a 13 yr old girl and lured them to the part of town where there is an absurd amount of wild dogs that evade animal control and are known to maul humans, i watched him lockpick the english teacher's door so he could take back an essay he wrote bc it was actually a slash fic he printed out and turned in by accident, we hung out at a dennys once and he accidentally put his hand in syrup, looked me dead in the eye and said "i did that bc im gay" and wore pastel pink for a month bc it pissed off the hall monitor, his dad, and also six teachers he didnt even have class with

[nogenderbee]

May I request The Brothers getting patted on the head and called "my best boy" by their s/o?

Of course! Sorry if it's a bit short but I didn't had that great idea for it... but I still hope you'll enjoy this one <3

Also I totally wasn't just admiring how big of a cutie Beel is in his part-

Reader call brothers their best boy

TagList: @indi-has-fallen @miya-akane @vodka-glrl

⊱ I said it once and I WILL repeat it... LUCIFER HAS BIG ASS EGO, DON'T BOOST IT EVEN MORE

⊱ alright so after we peaceful agreed that it's boosting his ego, let's go with everything else...

⊱ when you pat him on head, he just looked at you with confused look

"What's wrong, MC?"

"Just patting my best boy~"

⊱ and boom, he's blushing which is followed by a smug grin

⊱ he'll literally tell all his brothers about it whenever he gets a chance to do so

⊱ of course he doesn't just randomly comes up to them and says it but whenever they're being troublesome to him or whenever someone Mammon claims to be your best

⊱ he's not saying it in mean way tho, he's saying that to make them behave and it surprisingly works

"If you'd behave yourself, you'd have chance of YN calling you their second best boy. Sure, prove me they're gonna call you their best boy instead."

⊱ Mammon is already claiming to be your first so you thought he'll be happy to hear it, and while that's true, it's also not all

⊱ but first some petting him on head, he literally becomes all blushing when you do it

"H-Hey! Whatcha think ya doing?! I didn't told you to stop!"

⊱ of course he'll pretend like he doesn't like it but will secretly enjoy it, and once you call him your best boy, he can't help but grin

⊱ also unlike his older brother, he will point it out every single time that you called HIM your best boy, no one else!

⊱ also, he's avatar of greed, don't be surprised if he'd want to hear you call him that over and over all the time

⊱ but id you think he'll ask you for that personally, then you're dead wrong, he'll probably act like he forgot or do some other obvious scheme so you'd say it again

"Shaddup! It's not like you're their best boy! They prefer THE Great Mammon! It shoulda been obvious for ya already!"

⊱ first thing Levi does when you say it or just pet him is pinch himself, but then he realizes it's not a dream and now his cheek hurt...

⊱ but again, let's start from beginning, he'll literally blush like crazy when you put your hand on hand over his head

"Wh-Wh-WHAAAAAT?!! NO WAY MC JUST DID THAT! IT MUST BE A DREM, RIGHT?! AUĆ!! Ow... wait... IT'S NOT A DREAM?!!!!"

⊱ call him you best boy and you can officially say that Levi.exe stopped working

⊱ after he's back to normal, he still can't believe that it just happened

⊱ he'd love to point out to his brothers that you called him your best boy but he becomes stuttering and blushing mess whenever he even thinks of it

⊱ but there's one exception... fight between him and his brothers... then there's a chance he'll point it out even if he won't notice his words at first

⊱ also, he definitely rambles about it all to his snake

"Aaaaah... I still can't believe they said I'm their best boy... They had so many other demons to choose from!! They're truly the only one...!"

⊱ okey but listen here... Satan LOVES headpats! I mean he loves cats and you pet them, and he has a bit of cat personality himself so I'd say he enjoys it

⊱ so of course you get a smile yet cute and warm smile from him when you just put your hand on his head

"Ah, well this is nice... don't stop, let's stay like that for a little bit longer..."

⊱ and then, when you call your best boy, his face turns slightly red as he tries to keeps his cool

⊱ he's also not ashamed to point it out to his brothers but mostly, he'll point it out to the eldest in order to hopefully piss him off a bit spoiler: it doesn't work

⊱ surprisingly he seems a lot more calm than he is usually, he didn't even yelled when his brothers did something he would usually be furious about

⊱ his brothers immidietly asked how the heck did you broke him

"Guess who YN called 'their best boy'? I'm not lying, it's the truth, you can ask them yourself!"

⊱ Asmo is well... Asmo... so of course his reaction was predictable

⊱ when you started petting him, at first he complained that you have gonna ruin his hair he worked so hard for

⊱ but if you'll be careful to not ruin his hair while giving him headpats, then ther s no way he'll mind, quite the opposite actually, he may ask for more

"Aww~ well aren't you just the cutest~? Oh no, please go on, sweetie! As long as you'll be careful that is."

⊱ and when you cook him your best boy, it's just boost of ego confidence for him

⊱ he's also the type to not be scared to point out to his brothers that he's your best boy and tease you about it if he gets a chance

⊱ speaking of teasing, he now won't react unless you call him "best boy Asmo" or anything similar to that

"Asmo? I think you're forgetting yourself, darling... I want my FULL title! ... Oh yes, now I'm listening, precious~"

⊱ as we know, Beel is a sweetheart and so, he literally gives you the loveliest smile when you pet him

⊱ like, this boo literally smiles like a cute puppy and if he had a tail, it'd definitely wag now

"Hm? Is there something you need, YN? Oh, do you want to try this yogurt? It should be to your liking!"

⊱ and when you call him your best boy, his smile grows even wider and you can just see how his eyes sparkle

⊱ sure, he mentions it that you called him your best boy to his brothers but he won't make big deal out of it

⊱ he's in a better mood for at very least one whole day, like nothing can and will because I won't let it ruin his mood

⊱ also prepare to have one hella clingy teddybear by your side, I know I say it a lot but he is just a sweet teddybear

"I... am? Ah, thank you. Believe it or not but it really made my day better!"

⊱ Belphie is a snuggly little baby so of course he immidietly smiled as you pat his head, after all what could be better thing to wake up to?

"Morning... or afternoon... not important. You seem rather happy with yourself, c'mon, let's cuddle together."

⊱ he at first might not even notice your words but once he realizes it, there's no way you can be away from him

⊱ if you're cuddling, he'll literally not let you go, no matter how important task you have

⊱ huh? Mammon is running from witches? Sounds like his problem... Satan is furious again? Cuddles are more important...

⊱ he also is the type to point out to all of his brothers that you called him your best boy especially to Lucifer

⊱ he definitely encourages you to call him and Beel tour favorite boys, since he knows it would make his twin extremely happy

"Mhh... They can survive 5 minutes without you don't worry. It's not first time Satan is fruoois anyway..."

❉��•═•⊰❉⊱•═•⊰❉⊱•═•⊰❉⊱•═•⊰❉⊱•═•⊰❉⊱•═•⊰❉

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

North To The Future [Chapter 15: Drive] [Series Finale]

The year is now 2000. You are just beginning your veterinary practice in Juneau, Alaska. Aegon is a mysterious, troubled newcomer to town. You kind of hate him. You are also kind of obsessed with him. Falling for him might legitimately ruin your life…but can you help it? Oh, and there’s a serial killer on the loose known only as the Ice Fisher.

Chapter warnings: Language, alcoholism, addiction, murder, violence, character deaths.

Word count: 7.3k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @elsolario​ @ladylannisterxo​ @doingfondue​ @tclegane​ @quartzs-posts​ @liathelioness​ @aemcndtargaryen​ @thelittleswanao3​ @burningcoffeetimetravel​ @poohxlove​ @borikenlove​ @myspotofcraziness​ @travelingmypassion​ @graykageyama​ @skythighs​ @lauraneedstochill​ @darlingimafangirl​ @charenlie​ @thewew​ @eddies-bat-tattoos​ @minttea07​ @joliettes​ @trifoliumviridi​ @bornbetter​ @flowerpotmage​ @thewitch-lives​ @tempt-ress​ @padfooteyes​ @teenagecriminalmastermind​ @chelsey01​ @anditsmywholeheart​ @heliosscribbles​ @killerqueen-ofwillowgreen​ @narwhal-swimmingintheocean​ @tillyt04​ @cicaspair418​ @fan-goddess​ 

A/N: This is the fic I almost never wrote because I didn’t think anyone would be interested in some random, angsty, 1990s, Alaskan, crime-thriller AU. Thank you for proving me wrong. I hope you enjoy the ending. 💜

Almost everything about your existence is pure chance; it’s the most freeing and horrifying truth imaginable. There’s the genetic lottery and corporate downsizing, revolutions and hurricanes, plagues, asteroids, famines, faulty airplanes and malignant blooms of cells and drunk drivers. There are 100 billion planets in this galaxy and your atoms ended up on the one called Earth. After all that, do you really think what you want matters? So make all the choices you like, all the nail-biting deliberations and promises and vows, weigh costs and benefits, do research, roll dice, ask astrologers and palm readers, start over every New Year because that’s something we tell ourselves is possible. The fact that you exist at all is one big cosmic coin flip. If you think you’re the one driving, you’re dead fucking wrong. You’re the speck of dust on a windshield, the spin of a roulette wheel. You’re a flash of silver in the universe’s pinball machine.

I spend a lot of my time thinking about chance, okay? My family is one of the wealthiest in the Western Hemisphere, and I didn’t do anything to earn that. I was born first, and I definitely didn’t do anything to earn that, Jesus Christ, what a chromosomal fuckup. I inherited an affliction that others get to live without. I can’t imagine what it feels like to wake up and not be horrified by myself, my shortcomings, my failures: too small, too stupid, too wild, too weak. And the first time someone says something like that to you, you want to apologize, you want to drop to your knees and cling to them and beg for absolution, maybe even the first hundred times, the first thousand. And then it just starts to piss you off. Yeah, I know, I’ve heard it all before, why would you expect anything different? Isn’t this getting old, Mom? Maybe you’re the stupid one, Dad, if you think you could cut me and anything but disappointments would fall out. I’m not horrified by the fact that I’m an addict. The horror came first. The horror is what led to all the rest of it.

One day when I was in 10th Grade—I was slumped way down in my chair and drinking vodka out of an Evian water bottle—my American History teacher, purely by chance, assigned me to make a poster about Juneau, Alaska. Some other kid got Los Angeles (Hollywood! The Whisky a Go Go!) and another got Chicago (the Mob!) and another got Nashville (Johnny Cash!) and some jock moron I hated got Baltimore (um, crabs? the War of 1812…?), but I got fucking Juneau, Alaska. I thought this was so unjust that I never forgot it, the fact that I had to get up in front of the class with my pathetic Crayolas-and-magazine-cutouts poster and pretend that Juneau was a place that mattered, that microscopic cloud-covered relic of a late-1800s gold mining settlement on the shores of the Gastineau Channel. Juneau was never on my list of cities to run to. It just wasn’t. It didn’t have anything I wanted. But when I started thinking about places where I could really disappear, where no one would ever bother looking, where days are short and dark and incurious and irrelevant…well, that sounds like Juneau, right?

Let me tell you something about the night I left. I’ve been more messed up, yeah, and I’ve hurt people worse, and I’ve been closer to death, I’ve been one more powder-white gram on the scale away from oblivion; but I’ve never felt that fucking low. I can’t decide if I wish I’d never gone to Juneau at all. I can’t decide if it was a blessing or a curse.

My flight is a red-eye with a layover in Ketchikan, American Airlines, bound for Seattle. Sunfyre has the window seat. He’s wearing the bright red Service Dog vest that I once stole for him specifically for such occasions. My dog fly with the cargo? My dog?! Bill Clinton will be elected pope first. Sunfyre is chewing contently on Milk-Bones and watching the sun rise over the Pacific Ocean. He knows the drill. We’ll touchdown and deplane, and then…and then…

And then we’ll start over again somewhere new. I’ll find a flight board and pick a destination; Seattle is a hub, with spokes leading everywhere. I could go south, to Galveston, Lafayette, Biloxi, someplace where it gets hot, someplace where I can sweat her out of me, purge every cell that still remembers what she felt like. I could go west, fading into mountains or cornfields, vapid infinitesimal towns in Montana, Iowa, Idaho, Nebraska. I could go to New England or the Great Lakes or freaking Hawaii, sleep in hammocks, swim with sea turtles, drink my rum and Cokes out of coconut shells. But the more I think about it, the more I realize that nowhere really sounds good to me. My legs are suddenly tired of running. There’s an ache that rattles down to the bone.

I don’t have to tell you that I love her, right? It’s not so easy for me to say. But it’s true, and it’s beautiful, and it’s torture, and it’s a dream. It’s pain that flays you alive and then builds you back again, layers of fresh muscle and tendons and veins growing over ribs and vertebrae like a trellis thick with ivy. It’s not a high. It’s just the best life can get down here on earth. It’s the ocean, it’s the Northern Lights.

I’m swimming in a black hoodie that is three sizes too big; I haven’t slept and I’m pale and raccoon-eyed, looking like death, feeling worse. When the stewardess rolls by with her clattering cart just slim enough to fit through the aisle, I order a cup of water for Sunfyre and a double rum and Coke for myself. It arrives with two blood-red cherries bobbing in a caramel-dark carbonated sea. The guy in the next seat over gives me a judgmental little eyebrow raise.

“That doesn’t look like breakfast,” he says.

I bite off both cherries—juice dribbling down my chin, wiped away with a sleeve—and throw the stems over my shoulder. The lady sitting behind me yelps in disgust. “Because it’s dessert.”

The man smiles and shakes his head, one of those I shouldn’t find it funny but I do sort of looks. I inspire a lot of those. He’s maybe mid-thirties, long hair and ripped jeans, very punk rock, cool as hell. There is a constellation of pins on his denim jacket. One of them has a roman numeral 10 on it, a stark X nestled inside a triangle. Unity, Service, Recovery, the gold letters say. To Thine Own Self Be True. It’s an Alcoholics Anonymous pin. What are the chances?

He catches me staring, and I ask: “Does it really make you a better man?”

“It doesn’t make you better. It just makes you real.” He smiles again, patient and kind. “It makes your emotions and experiences real, your relationships real. And so you become whatever version of yourself you were always supposed to be. But you have to want it. Not your wife, not your parents or your kids, not your pastor, not your friends, not your parole officer. You.”

I speak without knowing what I’m going to say. “I want it.”

“Yes, I think you do.”

He sees a lot, I think, as the plane descends into the grey fogbank of Seattle. 20/20.

When we land, the man squeezes into a cab with me and Sunfyre—he sniffles into a Kleenex for a while before reluctantly admitting that he’s allergic to dogs—and pays the fare. The cab’s worn brakes squeal to a stop outside a residential treatment center on the banks of the Puget Sound. When we step out onto the sidewalk, I ask the man if he’s going to take me to get one last drink first. He laughs in my face. Fucking jerk.

He pulls out a black Sharpie and rummages through his pockets, his wallet. He can’t find a scrap of paper. He writes his phone number on the underside of my arm instead. “You call me, okay?” he says. “Call me when you get out. Call me before you get out, if you need to. I don’t care if it’s in five minutes, I don’t care if it’s at 2 a.m. You just make sure you call.”

“Why would you do this? I mean, you don’t even know me. You have no idea who I am.”

“Because once, years ago, someone did the same thing for me, and someone did it for her too. Maybe one day you’ll be able to pay it forward. I don’t care who you are or where you’ve been. It doesn’t matter to me. I’d like to think that we’re all more than the worst thing we’ve ever done.”

And then he waits for me to go inside. He doesn’t leave until he watches me check in at reception on the other side of the rain-flecked glass. Outside, a brand new day is beginning. A misty sun rises as pieces of the sky fall.

Sunfyre trots into the lobby alongside me, panting cheerfully, shaking the perpetual Seattle drizzle from his fur. There’s a girl at the front desk, just a girl, and that’s the other thing that’s different now. She’s not a maybe-future-one-of-my-girls. She’s just like anyone else. I already have a girl. I mean, I don’t anymore, not really. But I still do.

I throw my things onto the counter: my single suitcase, my tattered wallet, my bundle of cash held together with rubber bands, my scraped-up electric guitar.

“Checking in?” the girl asks.

“Yeah.”

“For how long?”

“As long as it takes, I guess.”

She opens my wallet, reads my license, blinks in bewilderment. “Aegon…?”

I sigh dramatically. “It’s Greek.”

~~~~~~~~~~

You dream of him; and when you do, he’s always smiling. He’s reading your palm in an empty Taco Bell, he’s kissing you under the Northern Lights, he’s regaling your parents with stories—of lobster fishing in Portland, of cattle ranching in Denver—all through Thanksgiving dinner, he’s undressing you in his moonlit apartment, he’s climbing into your bed. He’s not angry, he’s not ruined, he’s not running away. He’s exactly as you remember him in his best moments. He’s all chaotic white-blond hair and weightless light, sharp laughter and bright eyes. And each morning there’s a splinter-thin moment before you remember that he’s gone. That’s the worst part, really. You always knew it would be. You can’t even begin to forget him.

Your friends want to help you, but they don’t know how. Neither do your parents. Your dad gets an atlas from the study, throws it down on the dining room table, and opens it to a map of the world. “Pick anyplace and we’ll go there,” he says. “We’ll close the vet clinic for two weeks and we’ll all go.” But you can’t give him a single name: not Athens, or Paris, or Buenos Ares, or Cairo, or New York City, or Rome, or Tokyo, or anywhere else for that matter. It’s the strangest thing. All your life you’ve been waiting to get out of Juneau, but now nowhere sounds good to you. And maybe that’s a lesson you wish you’d never learned: sometimes freedom is less about places than it is about people.

The blood on the equipment recovered from Trent’s apartment matches DNA from the first three victims. He is charged with eight counts of first-degree murder and held awaiting trial in the Lemon Creek Correctional Center. His family visits him faithfully each week. His lawyer is exasperated that he won’t plead guilty and spare his parents the humiliation and expense of a protracted court battle. But Trent’s story never changes: he’s innocent, he’s never killed anybody, he doesn’t understand how the blood could have been found on his belongings. He wants to know exactly what items the police tested; he and his lawyer are still waiting for the prosecutor to turn over all the details during discovery. In the midst of the scandal, the upheaval, you fade into the backdrop like the stars behind fog. People talk around you and through you. They offer gaps that you don’t care enough to fill in. Drinks clink, whispers fly, conspiracies are exchanged between pool shots. You watch the days grow longer and wait for the future to arrive. You don’t know what it will look like, you can’t even begin to fathom it. But surely there must be a future. Life goes on. It did for your mom after Jesse. It will for you too.

A week after Aegon leaves, there is a knock at your parents’ front door. You open it to find Aemond standing there in the muted amber-pink afternoon light. His hair is long and loose, his Armani suit immaculately tailored, his BlackBerry nestled in his right hand. He glances up from it at you and his jaw falls open. And only then do you realize how awful you must look.

You tell Aemond, your voice hushed and heavy, ankles in quick-drying cement: “I don’t know where he is.”

“No, I can see that,” Aemond replies, dull horror in his blue eye. Then he turns around and strides halfway down the driveway towards the street, where a cab idles as it waits for him, engine exhaust pouring into the air like smoke from a firepit.

“How’s your dad?” you call after him when you get your bearings.

He pauses under the dwindling light. “Alive. For now.” And then Aemond considers you for a while. “I suppose if I ever want to find you again, I know where to look.”

You nod. “I’ll be here.”

I’ll always be here.

A month crawls by like a wounded animal, dead leaves snared in the fur of its belly. The flesh on your thigh knits back together. The things that Aegon ordered show up in Juneau, packages left on the front porch and stuffed into the moose-shaped mailbox like Christmas gifts in a stocking. You pack these remnants of him—Zoobooks and cooking accessories, knives and Chia Pets—into a cardboard box and tuck it away in a dusty, cobwebbed corner of the attic, and you’re aware the entire time that this has happened before, almost exactly twenty years ago. When your dad puts a Third Eye Blind or Red Hot Chili Peppers or Oasis album on his record player, you find some excuse to leave the room. When you tack magazine cutouts of beaches and cityscapes to your bedroom walls, all you can think about is where Aegon might be now. You wonder where he works during the day, a surf shop or a construction site or a farm or a fishing boat; you wonder who he spends his nights with.

I’ll always be here. Even if I leave, I’ll always be here.

~~~~~~~~~~

Twenty years ago to the day, almost to the hour, a man fell into the Gastineau Channel and drowned. They found water in his lungs, though the autopsy was only a formality, an afterthought; Jesse had a reputation in Juneau, and no one was particularly surprised to see how his story ended. There were abrasions on his back and shoulders, contusions on his wrists, but so what? He probably tripped half a dozen times before he tumbled over some guardrail and into the frigid black water. There was a bloody mess of an impact wound on the side of his face, but who cares? The blood alcohol concentration doesn’t lie. The man was wasted, and more than that he was a waste. If his premature demise hadn’t been then, it would have been later, in a week or a month or a year. And when someone like that goes, there’s a sigh of relief that accompanies the misery, isn’t there? There’s the sense of a weight being lifted from a scale.

You’re sitting in Ursa Minor at the usual booth, but the bar is practically empty. It’s Valentine’s Day. Joyce is with Rob, Kimmie is with Brad; Heather’s parents have spirited her away on a short vacation to Sitka to try to take their minds off Trent’s imminent lifelong incarceration. Your mom and dad’s February 14th tradition is cooking a homemade Italian dinner together—pasta, bread with herbs and olive oil, caprese salad, tiramisu—and then settling in for a romantic Blockbuster rental. This year, it’s Runaway Bride. Your mom loves Julia Roberts. They didn’t ask for privacy, but you gave it to them anyway. Kimmie offered to drop you off at Ursa Minor and then drive you home after her date with Brad so you could drink away your sorrows without having to worry about calling a ride. So now Kimmie is getting wined, dined, and plied with boxed chocolates at the Red Dog Saloon while you drain appletinis and flip through one of Jesse’s journals, not knowing what you’re looking for.

Dale is washing pint glasses in the sink behind the bar and humming cheerfully along to a Cake CD. It’s just you and him tonight; evidently, Dale doesn’t have a hot date either. It was nice of him to eschew the usual Shania Twain or Sheryl Crow soundtrack. He’s trying to spare you from any crooning love songs. He must have forgotten that Cake has its own little slice of relevance in your memories of Aegon, those memories that refuse to fade, ink in your skin as dark as night.

Your fingerprints trace Jesse’s scrawling, handwritten letters. It’s his very last journal, the last words he ever wrote. His final entry is unremarkable, a lucid recollection of his latest woodcarving project: it’s a family of tiny bears, three of them. He says he wants the cub to have the same slope of your cheeks, the shape of your eyes. And it’s just like your mom said. It really did seem like he was getting better.

You flip to the next page, blank. The heading reads: Thursday, February 14th, 1980.

You go back a few days. And your gaze catches on words that you’ve read before, months ago, back when the journals were a new discovery like striking oil. The entry is from Saturday the 9th. It ends with an unceremonious bullet point of a reminder: dinner w/ Dale on Thursday.

You leaf forward to Thursday, to the blank page that tells you nothing. Back to the 9th, forward to the 14th, again, again. Valentine’s Day 1980, before Dale had married his wife, after your mom had stopped trying to make plans with Jesse, maybe even rebelled against them; just two unromantic, discarded men with a vacant slot in their calendars and troubles to drink into submission. Except that Jesse never came home.

Dinner with Dale, you think dizzily. Dinner with Dale on the night he died.

The opening notes of The Distance shout from the stereo. Everything suddenly feels very loud.

Reluctantly crouched at the starting line,

Engines pumping and thumping in time…

What had Aegon said about that song before you sang it together, stomping and staggering across the hardwood floor? It’s not about NASCAR, it’s about a journey!

Outside, it’s a rare clear night in Juneau. The Northern Lights are a kaleidoscopic ribbon against indigo night, the sky a mausoleum of stars. And you remember when Aegon sang Everlong, when he grabbed your hand, led you upstairs to the roof, kissed you for the first time under the ethereal, shimmering curtain of green and purple and blue…before Heather had interrupted to tell you that Dale was closing the bar. He was irritable, he was tired; he wanted to go home.

The arena is empty except for one man,

Still driving and striving as fast as he can…

And then they found a body, didn’t they? Yes, you can remember being in Aegon’s apartment and hearing the police cars zoom by. You remember the red-and-blue flashes on his face. You remember thinking they looked like sapphires and rubies, the ocean and blood.

The sun has gone down and the moon has come up

And long ago somebody left with the cup,

But he’s driving and striving and hugging the turns

And thinking of someone for whom he still burns…

Icy claws glide down the length of your spine. Memories play back with a focused clarity that you didn’t have before: Dale groggy and yawning just before they found the fifth victim at Christmas, and again before they found the eighth the same night Trent dragged you—shrieking, bleeding, virtually naked—out of your Jeep. You remember Dale at your parents’ New Year’s Eve party talking about how maybe the killer was an athlete with brain damage from CTE. You remember him offering to give Trent a box of his old equipment from when he was a park ranger. You remember him watching as Trent towered over you here in Ursa Minor with a cue stick clenched in his fist, demanding to know where you had been the night before, Dale’s eyes gleaming with disapproval and fascination and…and…oh god, opportunity.

He’s going the distance,

He’s going for speed,

She’s all alone (all alone)

All alone in her time of need…

And now Aegon’s long gone, but you’re still here. And so is the Ice Fisher.

You’re staring at Dale, eyes huge and glossy with terror. He glances up, gives you a brief casual smile, looks down at the pint glasses again. And then his eyes come back to you. He sees you and you see him, really see him, and it’s the first time in your life that you can recall him being a centerpiece instead of an ornament for gazes to skate over like ice, wallpaper or taxidermy deer heads or a mirror. And you watch as the thing that lives inside Dale stirs awake. It is a shadow with fangs, talons, barbs down its spine, a weblike scribble of a brain loud with the echoes of screams; and it unfurls and fills him completely, all the way to his fingerprints. It possesses him, it eclipses him.

It’s Dale, you realize like a bullet slicing through an aorta, spilling an ocean of hot blood. It was him twenty years ago and it’s him now.

You gasp and fumble for the cannister of bear mace still clipped to your purse. Dale crosses the room with staggering swiftness, like a wolf, like a storm, one pint glass still gripped in his hand. He reaches you just as your thumb presses down on the cannister’s release tab. The rust-colored mist spews not directly into his face but into the room; Dale is hacking and rasping, you both are, but he isn’t in too much pain to haul you out of the booth and onto the floor. You’re screaming, you’re clawing at him, your eyes feel like they’re on fire, tiny pinpoint infernos that drill down to the bone. You can feel the ice-cold juice and schnapps and vodka of your appletini, knocked off the table when you fell, soaking through the back of your sweater. You can feel pebbles of glass as they burrow into your flesh. You are dimly aware of a barstool tumbling over as you struggle with Dale.

“No!” you cry into the monstrous hand that he clamps over your mouth. “No—!”

Dale brings the bottom of the pint glass down on your head. The Distance lyrics—she’s hoping in time that her memories will fade—swirl around inside your fractured skull.

Silence descends like a curtain, shadows in, lights out.

~~~~~~~~~~

I knock, and he opens the door. The house smells like fresh bread and alfredo sauce, rosemary and crushed garlic. My rental—a Toyota 4Runner, I remember what she said about the Nova being a bad idea in Alaska—is parked in the driveway behind her Jeep. Sunfyre is standing beside me, eyes sparkling, smiling with that unburdened-by-intellect innocence that dogs have. There’s a bouquet of blue-dyed roses in my left hand, cool melancholy blooms of life like seawater, like bruises.

“Hi,” I say to her dad as he stands in the doorway. “It’s good to see you again.”

“It’s good to see you too, Aegon.” He’s not just staring at me in the artificial front porch light; he’s gawking, he’s damn near speechless. “Wow. Wow. It’s really good to see you.”

Yeah, I know I look different. The dark rings around my eyes have vanished, my face is less puffy, my hair is trimmed and healthy and mostly out of my face, I stand taller. I’m wearing a white turtleneck sweater and a leather jacket, black skinny jeans, my combat boots. I have a red chip in my pocket that I can’t fucking wait to show her: 1 month sober. On the first day, you think you’re going to die, and on the second day you wish you would. But you don’t. You live, and that starts out as a grisly inconvenience, and then you get a taste for it. “You can probably guess who I’m looking for.”

“Yeah, I reckon I can,” her dad says. “But she’s not here right now. She went to Ursa Minor.”

I grin, a crooked little curl of the lips. “I think I remember how to get there.”

I hop back into the 4Runner with Sunfyre and pull out into the street, snow and ice chomping under the tires. I had missed driving, I realize now. I got so used to almost never being able to do it that I forgot how good it feels to turn the wheel yourself, to watch the speedometer ramp up when you decide you want to fly. Ten minutes later, I swerve into Ursa Minor’s deserted parking lot and screech to a stop across three separate spaces.

“Oh, what the fuck!” I choke out as I step into the bar, coughing into my sleeve. The blue roses tumble out of my hand. Ursa Minor is empty, but there’s something in the air, something invisible that drives scorching, stinging needles into my eyes and my sinuses. Tears stream down my face; my exposed skin prickles and burns. Sunfyre sneezes over and over again and lingers in the doorway, gulping in fresh night wind from outside. There’s shattered glass and green liquid on the hardwood floor. There’s an upturned barstool. The stereo is playing Cake’s cover of Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps.

What the hell happened here—?

And then I see it: the cannister of bear mace that had rolled under the booth, the same one she and her friends always sat in.

She used the bear mace. She finally used it. But why?

There’s blood on the floor. There’s blood on the table too. There’s a tattered, olive-green journal opened to a blank page. The pieces slide closer and closer and then link together, an explosion in my mind like fireworks.

I bolt outside and study the snow-covered parking lot. There are fresh tire tracks there under the murky luminescence of the streetlights; they lead out to the main road and then north towards the lakes.

“No,” I whisper to no one but the fierce wind, the sky threaded with the opalescent Northern Lights. “No, no, no…”

I sprint back inside Ursa Minor, get the phone Dale keeps behind the bar, and call the cops. “Stay where you are,” the 911 dispatcher instructs me sternly. “Wait for the police, do not attempt to investigate yourself, do not attempt to intervene—”

“Yeah, fuck that,” I say, and slam the receiver into the cradle. Then I swipe the black 8 ball off the pool table.

I load Sunfyre into the 4Runner and spin out of the parking lot, following the parallel lines of tire tracks like the etching of veins beneath skin.

~~~~~~~~~~

There’s a sound, rough and grating; and then you realize that it’s you being dragged across the ice. When your eyes flutter open, you see the uninterrupted sky: indigo night, distant stars, the Northern Lights. Your clothes are wet with snow; it’s so cold that the fabric is freezing, stiff and crackling when you try to move. Dale is lugging you over the frozen lake by the collar of your sweater. It’s choking you, but of course that doesn’t matter much. He’s about to kill you anyway.

“It’s not right,” Dale mutters, and you’re aware through the disorientation and the fog-like cloud of pain that he’s not really talking to you. “Your mom’s a nice lady. It’s not right that she had to lose two people this way, she doesn’t deserve that. Oh well. It can’t be helped now, can it?”

You whimper something, disjointed helpless words. Please, hurts, don’t, please.

“It’s not me,” Dale says, as if it’s perfectly logical. “I mean, not really. It’s this part of me that I can’t cut out. I can only feed it so it goes away for a while. It quiets down sometimes, it hibernates like a bear in the winter…but it always comes back. And my god, is it hungry.”

You smack clumsily, futilely at his hands as he hauls you over the ice. Dale doesn’t seem to notice.

“You have to make it look like an accident. That’s the ticket, if you don’t want anybody to know. You shove a hiker from a ledge, a drunk into the ocean. I did that for a long time, never raised suspicion. Never pinged on anyone’s radar. Jesse was the hardest, though. Good lord, did he fight. Had to pour a bottle of Everclear down his throat. Had to make it look like he was drinking that night. He wasn’t, which was unusual. Kept saying he wanted to turn things around. I think you had something to do with that. Now this? You were never supposed to be here, ladybug. What a shame. What a goddamn shame.”

Consciousness is a river that you dip in and out of; blackness crumbles around the edges of your vision, collapses in, recedes, swells again like a wave. You moan, you beg, you struggle as much as you can. It’s not much. It might as well be nothing.

“Things were easier after I got married,” Dale continues. He has a large hiking backpack slung over his broad shoulders, you see now. It jostles from side to side as he drags you. You know what’s in there: a chisel to break the ice, fishing line to strangle you. “Having someone else there all the time, it was a distraction. And it kept that thing inside me…not tame, no, I wouldn’t say that. But chained up down in the basement, maybe. Now I’m alone again. And when the chains start rattling, there’s nothing to stop me from hearing them.”

You get your feet under you, twist around, and slam your fists into Dale’s chest as hard as you can. He laughs in a baritone rumble and shoves you back down onto the ice; your head hits the ground, and you can feel yourself fading again, the last wisps of sunlight at dusk.

“Sometimes you want to hide,” Dale says. “And sometimes you don’t. I was ready to stop hiding. I can’t tell you what a high it was every time they found a body. The news, the ceaseless chattering around town, the name they gave me…incredible. Exhilarating. I couldn’t sleep for days after each kill. I’d toss and turn all night imagining what the headlines would be. Let me tell you, ladybug. I’ve never tried heroin, and I never need to. It can’t possibly be better than this.”

What will happen to my parents? you think, heartbreak gutting you, dull knifes rearranging your organs. What will happen to Heather and Kimmie and Joyce? What will happen when Aegon finds out he left too soon?

“I knew I needed someone to pin it on,” Dale informs you calmly. “Didn’t take anyone who went to the bar, didn’t take anyone who could be traced back to me. And still, I knew they’d figure it out eventually if I didn’t give them another suspect. At first, I was thinking I might use Aegon. He was a little small, sure, but he showed up around the right time and he was an outsider. Then I saw the way Trent was with you…aggressive, menacing…and I knew it had to be him. It was almost too easy. I planted the seeds, and good lord did they grow.”

“They’ll know,” you croak. “If you kill me, the police will find my body and they’ll know Trent’s not the Ice Fisher.”

Hideously, horribly, Dale smiles down at you. “Oh, ladybug, I don’t think they’ll ever find you. They found the others because I wanted them to. And no one is looking for victims anymore. Once you sink, I’ll cover up the hole with ice and snow. No blood, no signs. People will assume you’re a runaway. It was just too much, wasn’t it? Trent getting arrested, Aegon leaving town. Maybe you ran off after him. Maybe you threw yourself in the channel. Who could say? No, your bones will become silt, your name will slowly disappear from Juneau. And in ten or twenty years, your parents will have you declared dead in absentia. That’s my best guess. That’s how it will go.”

“No,” you sob, battling against the hands knotted into the collar of your sweater. “No—!”

His knuckles bash the side of your head, and a black silence rolls in like high tide, engulfs you, drowns you. When you swim back up into consciousness again, Dale is a few yards from you and drilling a hole in the ice with his chisel. You try to crawl away and promptly collapse, frail and boneless. He glances over at you, chuckles pleasantly, and then begins using a hatchet to widen the opening.

No, you think, hooking your fingers into the snow and dragging yourself towards the forest. No, no, no…

Dale’s ready for you. He walks over, grabs both of your ankles, tugs you with terrifying ease to the hole in the ice. Then he has a length of fishing line in his hands, and he’s looping it around your throat again and again, and he’s tightening it until the needle-thin nylon wire bites into your flesh, spilling tendrils of blood. You know you don’t have a chance, but you try; you owe it to your parents to try. You claw at the fishing line and you struggle and you cry out in hoarse, useless screams—

And then you hear something that doesn’t make any sense. Through the darkness, through the wind, there are the barks of a dog. Sunfyre rockets into your dimming field of vision and jumps on Dale, snarling and growling and snapping at his hands, his face. Dale flings the dog away, and as he’s distracted, Aegon arrives. He’s holding—ludicrously—a black 8 ball from a pool table, and he smashes it into Dale’s head. A sick, wet, crushing sound ricochets, cracked bone cushioned by flesh, and Dale howls as he rolls onto his side and covers his head with his hands.

He peers up at Aegon, furious and pained and stunned. “You?!”

“Me.” Aegon’s voice is dark and low like thunder, like the iron gale of storms over the ocean. “And I’m a killer.”

He lunges at Dale, still wielding the 8 ball. Dale’s massive hand juts out and closes around Aegon’s wrist, and then he yanks him to the ground. They’re grappling on the snow and ice, they’re striking out with knuckles and elbows, they’re ripping at each other with their bare hands. You’re trying to unravel the fishing line still coiled around your throat, panting in deep, frantic breaths so you can see and think clearly, so you can scramble to your feet, so you can help Aegon. And then Dale gets away from him just long enough to grab you again, to wrap the ends of the fishing line around his fingers. He delivers one last macerating blow to your skull, pulls you by your throat to the gaping hole in the ice, and shoves you through.

The water is so cold it’s paralyzing. There is a thought that seizes you—so overwhelming, so strangely rational—that says all you have to do is stay where you are, to wait a little longer, and then you’ll never hurt again, you’ll never be disappointed or caged, you’ll never be anything. And you think of all the lives you could have lived, all the places you could have gone: cities and beaches and deserts and valleys, gardens and rivers, ruins and glass. You were always so afraid of really going after them. What the hell were you so afraid of? Everything worth fearing is right here in Juneau.

I can still do those things. I can still live. And I can still help Aegon.

You jolt out of your inertia and clamber madly for the surface. But you don’t hit frigid open air; you hit ice, ice too thick to break through, ice too thick for more than a murmur of light to penetrate. Your palms press against the semitransparent wall; bubbles of carbon dioxide spurt from your nose and mouth. You feel for the opening that Dale made, but you don’t know where it is. You are lost beneath the ice, running out of air, fading rapidly. Then you hear Jesse—and you aren’t sure how you know what his voice sounds like, but you do—speaking softly and kindly to you, comforting you, telling you which way to go.

I’m sorry that no one knows the truth, you say without speaking. I’m sorry we thought you destroyed yourself. I’m sorry you never got the chance to truly live.

You were all better off without me anyway, he answers, without any bitterness at all. And that’s true, isn’t it?

There is a great disruption that rocks through the water. New currents stir into existence, fresh waves spring out of the darkness. And then someone takes your hand and draws you towards a noise, muffled through the ice and water: a dog barking, you realize. Then your palms find the opening and you inhale brutally cold air into your aching lungs, the best you’ve ever tasted. Aegon helps pull you through the hole and out of the lake, out of the jaws of oblivion.

You lie together on the ice, breathing in gasps that turn to mist in the night wind. Dale’s body is sprawled several yards away. The hatchet he’d used to break up the ice is buried in his neck, spine severed, eyes slick and vacant. You can see reflections of the Northern Lights flickering in them.

“You came back,” you whisper to Aegon as whirling police sirens approach, the lights dancing on his face: blue like the ocean, red like fire and blood.

“Of course I came back, Appletini,” he says, laughing with frenzied relief, kissing your cheeks and forehead over and over again, lake water dripping from his hair. Sunfyre jumps around you both, yapping ecstatically, his tail wagging. “I couldn’t leave without my Juneau girl.”

~~~~~~~~~~

There’s wind, but it isn’t sharp like a blade. There’s a sky, but it isn’t cloaked in cloud cover or fog. The boats that bob in the surf are sailboats and cruisers, not fishing vessels. Dolphins crest out of the sun-speckled waves like someone coming up from a dream.

It’s June 9th, and you’re soaring down the Pacific Coast Highway in the red Ford Mustang convertible you rented after the plane touched down in Seattle. Aegon is in the driver’s seat, black sunglasses and white T-shirt, his hair whipping in the breeze. He has one hand on the wheel and the other behind your headrest. Sunfyre is in the backseat, grinning like only dogs can. You turn up the song on the radio: Drive by Incubus.

You and Aegon had stayed in Juneau long enough for your skull to heal, and for your parents to find someone else to take over the vet clinic. They settled on a 32-year-old from Detroit: Justin McNair, a former Marine like your dad, and he either has no family or a bad one because he never wants to talk about them. Perhaps it doesn’t really matter which it is; perhaps sometimes they’re just about the same thing. Your parents have already basically adopted him. He eats dinner with them three times a week and calls your dad when he needs help with house maintenance or scaring a moose away from his truck. And just before you went south, Aegon showed him how to make the world’s best hot chocolate.

You send postcards back to Juneau from each town you stop in. Heather’s bon voyage gift to you had been an indecently revealing swimsuit. Joyce appeared with—what else?—a stack of books fit for leisurely beach reading. And Kimmie gave you, however bizarrely, a compass. So you don’t get lost, she had said with an innocuous little smile. You honestly couldn’t tell if she was joking.

During his one month in jail, Trent learned how to meditate and do yoga. He’s still kind of a dumbass, but he’s also a supposedly devout vegan Buddhist, and he had the decency to leave you alone aside from an apology letter that he slid into the moose-shaped mailbox: handwritten, six pages, lots of spelling and grammatical errors. Oh, and he finally got that job with the Forest Service, probably mostly due to his high-profile wrongful detainment. Now hikers get to swoon over his muscles and hair flips.

You’ll go back to Juneau, of course. Maybe just for visits, maybe for more than that someday. But it will never feel like a cage again.

Aegon calls Aemond every two or three days, a habit he started when he was in rehab. At first it was by necessity—he needed someone to pay the $30,000 bill—but now you think he secretly looks forward to it. He updates Aemond about how the road trip is going and reassures him that the plan hasn’t changed: south to San Diego, and then cutting east across the country to Miami. You don’t know what exactly life will look like there, and neither does Aegon. That’s not the important thing about going. Part of AA is making amends, and Aegon has a lot of work to do in that respect. He wants to go back to Miami, he says. He’s ready to go back.

San Diego is exactly like Aegon once told you it would be. You weave through the rust-colored peaks of the Laguna Mountains and there’s the Pacific Ocean, glittering and sapphire-blue, peppered with surfers and sea lions. It’s hot and it’s beautiful beyond words and everything grows there: ivy, cactuses, palm trees, calla lilies, roses. And for the first time that you can remember, the world feels breathtakingly, impossibly big. You get carryout from an unassuming restaurant called The Taco Stand, and then Aegon parks the convertible in La Jolla. You walk down the steps carved into the cliffside, paper bags in your hands full of tacos and churros, Aegon carrying Sunfyre so the dog won’t slip.

You sit together on the golden sand and watch the 8:00 p.m. sun sink into the waves, Aegon’s arm around your waist, your fingers tucking his lock of silvery hair behind his ear. And then he takes your hand, kneads it until it’s sinuous and relaxed, and reads the lines of your palm in the amber dusk like firelight.

“It says you’re happy,” he tells you. “And that you’re free.”

“I am,” you reply, smiling as the ocean stretches out like the arm of a galaxy: the ancient past, the infinite future.

[formula1fanfiction]

Charles Leclerc / Pierre Gasly

Title: What's going on?

Pairing: Charles Leclerc / Pierre Gasly

Characters: Charles Leclerc, Pierre Gasly, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, George Russell, Alex Albon, Esteban Ocon.

Prompt: Could you write Pierre, who becomes a kisser when drunk? Bottom Pierre.

A/N: Pierre's a little meance in this and poor Charles is the one who has to deal with all the shit.

If Charles had one thing to say about is best friend, it's that he's not a very classy drunk. "I'm not going to drink, I promise." Pierre tells Charles as he walks through the door. "I've heard that before." Charles replies before following him through the doors.

They are already late to the party, most over drivers seem drunk already. "Come on Pierre, it's wine it won't kill you." Charles watches as Max pratically shoves the drink into Pierre, most of it sloshes out of the side and stains Max's white shirt red. "Whoops."

"I'm good, i'm not drinking tonight." Pierre smiles at the Dutchmen politely, then walks away.

"You drank last time and nothing bad happened." Carlos tells Pierre, Charles stares daggers at his teammate behind Pierre's head, because yes something bad did happened last time. Pierre vomited into a potted plant and then tried to make out with Sebastian Vettel, Charles had never been more embarrassed, especially when Seb had told him to control his best friend.

"He's good." Charles steps in. "Because last time he vomited into a potted plant." He decides to leave out the kissing Seb part. Carlos laughs so hard, he has to clench down on his stomach.  

Pierre likes kissing people when he's drunk and that's a problem.

"Stop being boring, it's my party, now drink." Lando presses a vodka into Pierre's hand, who gives a little shrug. "I guess, one can't hurt." Oh, here we go. Charles mentally rolls his eyes, watching him tip back the drink.   

One quickly turns into several, Charles hates that he can't enjoy himself because he's got to take care of Pierre. Hopefully he doesn't try and kiss anyone tonight.

"Oh hello, Estie bestie. Why do we hate each other?" Esteban, who never drinks looks repulsed as Pierre closes the gap between them with puckered lips. "Pull yourself together." Charles hisses, quickly pulling Pierre away, giving Esteban a small smile in apology. "You would only hate yourself in the morning for going there."

"Drink this." Oscar presses a glass of water into Pierre's hand. "It will help you sober up." Charles is too busy watching Alex and George shamelessly making out, Alex has George pressed up against the wall, a hand up his shirt. A small part of him wishes that was him and Pierre.

"Yeah, they need to get a room." Oscar laughs, following Charles eyes. "I would tell them to get one, but i'm scared they will end up fucking in Lando and I's bedroom." Charles forgot for a moment that Lando and Oscar are together, it seems everyone is in an established relationship but him.

"Get away from him." Charles glances over and sees Pierre, now has George pressed up against the wall. Luckily the Brit, doesn't seem that angry about it, his boyfriend on the other hand roughly pushes Pierre away. "Kiss your own boyfriend."

"You took my seat, so I thought i'd take your man." Pierre is smirking, Charles doesn't think he's ever seen Alex that angry, he quickly pulls him away. "Sorry Alex, he's drunk." Alex places his hands on his hips. "Why don't you kiss him instead, we all know you want to." Charles narrows his eyes and pulls Pierre away.

"What was that all about?" Pierre asks staring into Charles' soul, like wasn't the one who tried to kiss George and piss off Alex. "You tried to kiss George, while Alex was standing right next to him." Pierre giggles. "I wasn't talking about that."

"Then what, Pierre?" Charles just wants to home, parties are no fun when you a babysitting an actual idiot. "When Alex said, why don't you kiss him, we all know you want to." Charles shrugs.

"Do you want me to kiss you, Charles?" He wants to say, but that would be lying, so he doesn't say anything, just glares at Pierre. His personal space is suddenly crowded by Pierre then their lips meet. The kiss isn't a good one, Pierre's drunk and it's full of tongue and teeth but Charles' heart does a happy dance finally getting what he wants.

"Shall we go back to the hotel?" Pierre smirks as he pulls away. How can Charles say no to that. They don't bother saying goodbye, Pierre's pissed off way too many people.

"Are we going to fuck, Charles?" It's the first thing Pierre asks when they enter the bedroom. "No, you're too drunk for that." Pierre laughs. "I'm not drunk, tipsy maybe but not drunk."

"Still no, because i've never, you know with man." Charles gestures with his hand, embarrassed that he's even admitting to this. "You can fuck me, it's no different than doing it with a women, I know you've done that." Pierre shrugs. "Well yes, okay."

"Great." Pierre tears off his clothes, like he's some kind of animal and spreads himself out in the middle of Pierre's bed. "There's lube in my pocket." Charles fishes it out of Pierre's jeans while slowly taking off his own clothing.

"Are you sure about this? I feel like i'm taking advantage of you." Charles climbs up onto the bed and settles himself between Pierre's spread legs. "I've wanted to fuck you for years Charles, just get on with it, i'm horny."

"Ok, Mr bossy." Charles pours a generous amount of lube onto his fingers, probably too much he makes a bit of a mess and it runs down his fingers. "Not the whole bottle, Cha." Pierre giggles placing his hands behind his head, lifting his legs slightly giving Charles better access to his hole.

"Actually, maybe my hands and knees will make it easier." Pierre rolls over and soon Charles is presented with that nice ass. Charles is a little nervous sinking the first finger inside, he's fucked girls, this isn't too different. He twists and turns the digit, fucking him with them, then adding another one. He works his way up to four fingers, just because he's scared to death of hurting Pierre.

"Today Charles, I am not a virgin, I bet I could get your fist inside me at this point." Charles lets his fingers slip out. "You are so bossy for someone who is about to have a dick in their ass."  

"I just know what I want, now stop fucking around and get inside of me." Charles resists the urge to spank the pale pass and pours lube on his cock, hissing in pleasure at finally giving himself some pleasure.

Charles lines himself up with Pierre's hole and slowly sinks inside. "Charles." Pierre snaps again and Charles gives up taking it steady and slams inside of him with one swift thrust. "Fuck yes, you feel so good." Charles stalls for a few seconds but soon starts to move, because Pierre is annoying as fuck and keeps complaining, drilling Pierre with rough but shallow thrusts.

"Wow Charles, you really know what you're doing." Charles has had it with Pierre's mouth now and decides it time to shut Pierre up once and for all and slams inside even harder, getting deeper and deeper with each thrust. The headboard slams against the wall. Pierre's bossy sounds are now replaced with loud moans, which are slightly better to handle.

Charles sinks to the deepest parts of him and angles his thrusts until he slams into Pierre's prostate. "Fucking hell." Pierre throws his head back, taking his own leaking cock into his hand are furiously strokes himself to the same pace as Charles' thrusts.  It doesn't take long for him to fall apart and he's screaming Charles' name as he paints his own hand with his milky white seed, collapsing down onto the bed in the process, leaving him face down ass up.

"I'm close." Charles digs his fingers into Pierre's hips and thrusts into him with all his might. Pierre is still moaning loudly, even though he must be feeling sore and oversensitive by now. Three more hard thrusts and Charles is following suit, screaming out Pierre's name as he spills inside of him. Charles pulls out instantly and collapses down onto the bed, trying to catch his breath.

"I'm sorry Pierre, I feel like I took advantage of you." Pierre makes a sound and pulls Charles in for a cuddle, until his head rests on Pierre's chest. "I was bossing you around the entire time, you can't think I didn't want it."

"I think you wanted it, but you are drunk..." Pierre giggles. "I'm not drunk Charles, i've always wanted you, I always kissed the guys to make you jealous." Charles can't believe what he's hearing. "You kissed George, in front of Alex." A shit eating grin appears on Pierre's face. "No harm in pissing of Alex in the process."

"So you wanted to fuck then?" Pierre nods. "I've wanted to fuck you forever Charles, I had always thought that you would be the bottom." Charles shrugs. "Maybe next time?"

"I hope that's a promise."

[cowboy-lover69]

Rough Ride

(Paul Allen x Patrick Bateman)

(1,266 words)

Patrick’s mind was wandering. He and Paul were driving out to a remote customer, Paul offered to drive instead of getting a taxi, but Patrick was not sure why. Patrick has been feeling very awkward with Paul ever since they had sex a few weeks ago, but they have not talked about it since it happened. To be completely frank Patrick does not think they talked at all. Patrick doesn't mind though he really didn't like Paul that much anyway, right? Either way, he's not going to talk to him, he’s not a huge fan of homosexuals anyway.

Patrick left his thoughts and glanced out the window. They were far out of the city, only fields now, that and trees, the sunset shining behind the trees. He was tempted to light a cigarette but hesitated; he knows how bad cigarette stains are in a car and there was no ashtray handy, and he didn't want to ask Paul for one.

His thoughts were interrupted by Paul serving onto the side of the road.

“What are you doing!” Patrick said, mildly pissed off and still trying to steady himself for the rapid car movement.

“The car was about to catch fire!” Paul exclaimed.”

“What does that even mean Paul? The car seems fine to me!” Patrick was a little frustrated. Being stuck with Paul Allen in a small car in the middle of nowhere was the LAST thing he wanted.

“I forgot to get the coolant filled up before we left. I haven't driven this car in almost a year, so the coolant happened to slip my mind. There is a gas station a few miles away that probably sells it, but when we get there it's not smart to drive this junk.”

“Fuck.” Patrick mumbled under his breath. “Well, one of us better get walking down there, and it’s not going to be me. I just got my shoes shined.”

“It's too late to walk down there. The last thing I want is to get lost in the dark nor do I want to walk in the dark for up to an hour." Paul said seeming frustrated.

Patrick sighed, it’s not like he wanted to avoid Paul so much he walked in the dark with his new shoes. Since no one was coming for them, Patrick was resigned to sleeping in the car, even though he was not looking forward to it.

They sat there in silence for a while, 10 or 20 minutes. Patrick started smoking a cigarette considering he could now stand outside the car, which he did, and didn't have to worry about the lack of an ashtray. Patrick leaned against the car smoking for a moment until Paul spoke.

“I think I have vodka in the back if you wanna drink any with me because I sure as hell could use a drink.”

“Yes, a drink would be good. Why do you keep vodka in your car Paul?” Patrick inquired.

“Am not sure, I have not driven this car in almost a year. I guess having a good drink on hand is never bad!”

Patrick got up wondering what Paul had in his trunk. He walked to the back of the car surveying the open trunk while Paul poured the drinks. As he glanced over the usual spare tire and such, his eyes locked on the corner where he saw, BONDAGE! It was a black leather suit with restraints lying next to it.

“Why the FUCK do you have bondage in your fucking car Paul!” Patrick was disgusted at the implication he used this at some point. Even worse, he knows Paul would use bondage because they did the night they had sex, much lighter stuff though. He tries not to think about it, he does not like to knowledge the fact that he had gay sex.

Paul tilted his head up to look at Patrick, seeming a little embarrassed, but it quickly faded. “You know exactly why I have that in my car,” Paul said with a chuckle.

“Paul, I could kill you right now. We're in the middle of nowhere.” Patrick said, trying to stop Paul from making any more jokes of the like he just made.

Paul let out a soft laugh. “Yeah, but I know you wouldn't,” Paul said while taking a sip of his drink. After finishing his sip paul handed Patrick his drink.

Patrick took it with a sigh. He hates that Paul is right. He doesn't think he could ever bring himself to kill Paul, no matter how much he wanted to sometimes. He feels things for Paul that he's never felt before, and it scares him. Patrick downed his drink in a very little amount of time, He needed it.

They were in silence until Paul finished his drink. “Patrick, we need to talk.”

“What, I am not sure what we need to talk about Paul, there is nothing to talk about.”

“Patrick, have you been avoiding me?”

“No Paul, we don’t work anywhere near each other, so I am bound to not see you as often, and since I and Evelyn are not engaged anymore, I don't really go to parties as much, so no paul am not, for Christ's sake!”

“Sure Patrick,” Paul said, rolling his eyes. “We can drop the subject.”

“Can I have another drink, Paul?”

Paul nodded and passed another one over. It was quiet for a long time. It gave Patrick time to enjoy the scenery as much as he could in the current situation. The trees and the stars, the shine on Paul's old red Bugatti, and Paul himself, he looks nice in this light, as much as Patrick would not like to admit it.

Patrick was lost in thought for a long time. He started to question whether his feelings for Paul really even matter. He longed to embrace his feelings but he never was scared. He's scared of what people would think of him being a fag. What would his family think of him? Would he lose his job? Even if he keeps his job, what about his colleagues? If he gets into a relationship with Paul he surely could not hide it at least Paul could not. He started to question whether worrying about that even matters, he has such a false sense of happiness with all the drugs and medication and the face of personality he puts on for his colleagues, would it hurt to be truly happy for once, he knows if he does act on his feeling whatever feelings he's had for him, he could never go back to the way things were before. Fuck it he thought.

Patrick quickly walks over to Paul and kisses him. They stood there for more than a moment kissing, for Patrick it felt like ages before they stopped.

“Patrick…why did you kiss me? I mean it’s not like I didn't enjoy it, I am just a bit confused. I thought you were avoiding me.” Paul said, still holding Patrick's waist very firmly.

“Fuck, Paul I never felt this feeling with anyone else. I was scared of what others would think of me, maybe it's the alcohol but, I want you paul." Patrick almost admittedly regretted saying what he did, he had never been that open with anyone in his entire life it felt unusual.

“Are you confessing to me, Patrick?” Paul laughed. “I never thought you were the romantic type.”

Patrick looked away for a moment and sighed. “Shut up and kiss me before I kill you.”

“Oh pat, that’s kind of hot,”

the masterlist (taking requests)

[mcw2]

Lyrics

Intro:

The demon called upon 5 dumbasses

Phoenix, Little Fox, Lucifer, and Allie

Oí dipshit, you forgot about Shady the Mastermind.

What the fuck?

Chorus:

The speakers are ‘bout to explode

(You didn’t give me a proper introduction!)

We overflow the road

We pull our guns on you

(Oí! Give me an introduction!)

Don’t try to fight back

We’ll smack you back

Verse 1:

I’m so funny, I could make you piss your pants

I’m the one thing your parents lack

(You’re the least funny person, I know)

Shut your mouth

People can’t even forget me, even if they try

(Who the hell is you?)

(I never met that dude before)

What? I’m Shady the Mastermind

Do you mind?

I’m trying to do my lines

(Whatever Charlie)

It’s Shady!

I’d be Charlie to give them Vietnam flashbacks

Give them heart attacks

Chorus:

The speakers are ‘bout to explode

We overflow the road

We pull our guns on you

Don’t try to fight back

We’ll smack you back

Verse 2:

I’m not one to help someone

Unless they pull a gun

Where I can then kill them with my rocket launcher

Pour vodka all over their-

(That’s water)

Shut up

Introduce me as the man of your dreams

Show them I don’t plan on any schemes

Then when we’re alone, we can fuck all we want

Chorus:

The speakers are ‘bout to explode

We overflow the road

We pull our guns on you

Don’t try to fight back

We’ll smack you back

Verse 3:

Shady the Mastermind thinks he’s the lead singer of our band

(I never said that)

I’m the one that’d pull out a hand (gun!)

(Too far man)

Quit interrupting my verse!

I’ll make you quit our rehearse (oh!)

I’m the only one that’d pull out a handgun

(Really? Look at that man bun)

Quit ruining my verse, with your talking!

(Someone’s getting mad for being mocked)

Shut up!

I’m the only one that’d pull a handgun out on Shady

(I’ll beat your ass if you do, Lucifer)

I can, and you can’t make me

Chorus:

The speakers are ‘bout to explode

We overflow the road (I didn’t finish my verse!)

We pull our guns on you

Don’t try to fight back

(Your verse would have been too long)

We’ll smack you back

(It don’t matter, I didn’t say anything without you fuckers interrupting me)

(Not my problem)

(Zip it Shady!)

Outro:

What bitch?!

(Haha)

Oh…

[meretricious-muses]

every night i fall asleep pouring over different ways to kill myself. i got my drinking under control, but of course i forgot why i was drinking in the first place: drinking quelled the thoughts. there’s a handle of vodka on my bedside and it’s four in the morning. i’ve considered having a shot or two to wind down, but i respect myself more than that. as my whole body shakes from things people may or may not think about me, i cannot manage to lift my body to turn off the light. i am scared of the dark. i don’t like quiet, i don’t like the dark, i don’t like being alone. i enjoy being constantly stimulated because that way i don’t have to think. last night i drifted off to dreamland by imagining myself dangling over the highest overpass in the city. i’m scared of heights and the thought of it made my legs weak. i imagined blood flowering from my wrists, dying my bath water a vibrant red. i considered combining a toaster, but that seemed like overkill (literally). i half dreamed of crashing my car while going too fast down the freeway—this is a selfish way to go, i refuse to harm others because of my mental illness. i don’t have access to a gun unfortunately, so that’s off the table. the biggest, and most feasible idea i had would be the pill route. my mother has collected countless orange shaker bottles full of uppers, downers, and in-betweens. three bottles, one of each, a diet coke in hand (i’d do my makeup and put on a good outfit, i refuse to die ugly) and handful after handful until they’re all empty. drift off into a pile of my own vomit and piss and pain. feel electricity pulse through my veins as my body burns and dies. that is the way i would go. the only downside to this method is of course that they are my mothers pills, and she would surely take on the brunt of the guilt. my best friend told me that. she also told me that if i were to kill myself, she would kill herself, with both of their daughters gone, our mothers would likely kill themselves, with their husbands, our fathers and stepfathers shortly following being left alone, thus our dogs—and her brother— being left orphaned. wiping out two bloodlines with one death that lies in my hands. i refuse to believe that this is realistic. my best friend, my boyfriend, my parents. none of them would kill themselves were i to fade away. they would take a deep breath and release a sigh of relief. somehow dreaming of suicide brings comfort. writing this has brought me comfort. instead of thinking about things that weirdly intertwine, things that might be said, things that could be leveraged against me (that are purely paranoia fueled and not genuinely malicious) i am thinking about a release. a relaxing goodbye. god i wish.

[souji-upseta]

guess who decided to kin dave strider and went to the boozery just so that i could buy a nip of vodka in to pour into my apple juice in order to be able to say that my reaction to pony pals was to pour myself a stiff drink

(THIS WHAT IS THE REFRANCE)

then i forgot to take a picture of the nip i bought so i had to ask my housemate if i could use one of his bottles in order to take a staged picture of vodka+apple juice in order to prove, on some level, that this actually happened. i did that.

i didn't do it in the exact way pictured. but i still put A Vodka, specifically obtained for the purposes of making myself a stiff drink, in my apple juice, as a response to detective pony.

tbh this isn't even a "stiff" drink. idk how much you know about booze, but a nip is like, 2 sips of booze, in what's comparatively a fuckin ocean of apple juice. this shit is barely alcoholic.

if this drink were a boner, it wouldn't even be at half-mast. not even a quarter chub. it would be the reluctant, SSRI-impeded swelling of sad, shrunken, dead-nerved erectile tissue into a state that could be charitably considered "aroused". like you need to piss and your iatrogenic sexual dysfunction is gracious enough to bestow the IDEA of endowing your junk with an inconvenient and evolutionarily ironic* vascular reaction but it's not fully committing to the bit.

on the plus side? popping a boner from your full bladder actually makes it much more difficult to take a piss. so think of it as a favor. it's easier to piss.

this piss-boner metaphor works for the flaccid state of my apple juice's alcohol content works because apple juice looks like piss. this AJ is squeezed from the puny fruit of knowledge after pawnee bit into the fruit of life, and that's why we received detective pony.

that's why im waxing nonsensical about booze piss apple juice boners and you have to read it. if you subscribe to a more a gnostic or luciferian interpretation, though, as i do?

i think you'll agree with me that this is a good thing. i'm glad you're here. i'm glad you're reading my not-even-tipsy levels of horseshit spoken through the profound inebriation that comes from reading something as sobering as fucking detective pony. i'm glad i'm who i am now, because of having read this.

I want you to live.

and that's really all there is to say on the matter.

*I never want to hear the word "ironic" again.

im finally reading detective pony and everyone is right that it's probably the best fanfiction ever written. jfc.

[adri-2022]

A Natural

Fandom: Chicago PD

Characters: Jay Halstead x FemReader/ Brian "Otis" Zvonecek

Warnings: fluff

Word count: 786

Jay Halstead Materlist

A/N: Hi guys here is another original imagine, a very short one. I’m not entirely convinced with this one so I hope everyone likes it and that everyone is being safe. Also I apologize in advance if there is a wrong translation, I used google translate for this story.

Don't be afraid to leave your comment!

----------

You had moved to the United States a couple of years ago, it was a beautiful city and you had fallen in love with it instantly. Well, you had fallen in love with a person too. You had met him by your cousin Brian or best known as Otis who worked in a firehouse in Chicago. Jay Halstead had fallen in love at first sight. He swore he forgot how to breath when his eyes landed on the exotic Russian woman. Now a year into yours and Jay’s relationship you were both nothing but happy.

It had been a couple of hours since you had both arrived at Molly’s, your cousin had poured you your favorite -Vodka- very Russian. Jay was sitting beside you on the bar stool while you talked to Otis, just admiring his beautiful girlfriend. Shaking his head after realizing you were speaking Russian to your cousin, and he didn’t understand shit about it.

A few minutes later Otis walked away laughing at something you said, just then you turned to face your boyfriend, smiling ear to ear when you realized he was looking at you all this time.

“Hey beautiful” “Privet” you responded matching his smile. Jay didn’t understand a lot, in fact you had been trying to teach him a couple of words -still in process- ‘Hi’

“You know I love when you talk Russian baby. I find it extremely hot, and attractive. But I really can’t understand anything” he said an apologetic look on his face, pulling a piece of hair out of your face while you giggled.

The rest of the night was spend with the intelligence team, joking and laughing. You had shared a Vodka shots competition with Otis, the entire bar very amused by the both of you.

“Ya vyigral. Ya Koroleva, poklonis’mne Brayan” you said while laughing at Otis’s pissed expression. ‘I won. I’m the queen, bow before me Brian’  .

Him flipping you off from the others side of the table. Making the others laugh they didn’t know what either of you were saying but to them it seem hilarious -judging by Otis face-,

“Ty smukhleval. Eto vsegda to zhe samoye s toboy” he screamed with an irritated look on his face, making you crack up laughing. ‘You cheated. It’s always the same with you’

Finally, it was time to go home, so you and Jay said your farewell to everyone. Arriving at Jay’s place you both went to change into something comfier and cuddle on the coach while he watched some hokey. After a moment of silence,

“Are you not actively teaching me Russian, so I don’t know what you murmur under your breath when we fight?” he squinted his eyes looking at you accusatory. Your eyes widened as you kept your gaze on the TV, you could feel his gaze on you, shaking your head innocently.

“Oh, you so are!” he said chuckling while he started tickling you. Your laughter filled the apartment, making Jay smile even bigger. Now being on top of you, he leaned down capturing your lips, before pulling you towards him, wrapping his arms around you. Before falling asleep you whispered,

“Ya lyublyu tebya Dzhey Kholsted” this made Jay’s eyebrows furrow, grabbing his phone, he pulled up the google translator. ‘I love you Jay Halstead’

It was hard trying to not forget what you said and trying to write it the best and most accurate way. Finally, he came up with the translation, reading it he smiled down at your sleeping figure. He couldn’t stop the big grin from taking over his face. -So that’s what it meant- he thought. He had heard you say it multiple times before not knowing what it meant.

Yes, you had both said I love you in English before but knowing that all along you were saying it without him understanding. That gave it a more intimate meaning. Listening to the Russian words to memorize it, he wanted to remember that very special sentence.

A couple of days later you were in the kitchen preparing dinner when you heard Jay’s footsteps. He smiled, heart eyes and everything, before talking.

“Ya lyublyu tebya bol’she Y/N Zvonecek” you turned around, mouth hanging open while he smiled unsure. He was nervous to say the least, but he was mostly happy. Wanting to surprise you by saying this special and intimate sentence in your first language. You looked at him with awe before running towards him and kissing him deeply. He smiled into the kiss while you laughed. ‘I love you too Y/N Zvonecek’

“Did I say it right?” he said while chuckling at your reaction,

“Hell, yes baby. You’re a natural” giggling and kissing him again.

[diedraechin]

Hi! I would love to know some more about Golden Ticket, sounds fun.

The oldest Yuri on Ice!!! WIP I have. aka, when I came into fandom and decided to write a fic, it was either going to be bysotid or this.

bysotid won and then turned into a monster. Like, I thought bysotid was going to be a 100k word fic, not the epic monster that it turned into, but here we are.

Golden Ticket is my take on the Rivals!AU... except they don't actually become Rivals until after the Sochi Grand Prix of Tears, and it's canon divergent in that Yuuri and Viktor met when Yuuri was around 14 and attended one of Yakov's summer camps. The kicker is that Viktor doesn't remember meeting a Yuuri Katsuki; he remembers a kid named Katsuji Yuhi, who he called Kat and who disappeared from existence. And instead of his friend/protege Kat taking Japanese Juniors by storm, some upstart named Yuuri did, and it wasn't fair because Kat had so much potential. (Don't @ me. Viktor is canonically bad with names. Or at least pretends to be, and in this 'verse is *actually* bad with names. Plus, Yuuri was young and nervous and forgot to reorder his name when introducing himself to his idol Viktor and definitely wasn't going to correct him when he just went with Kat. (Georgi also picked up the nickname which is important plotwise, aka, Viktor's proof that Kat existed, Georgi remembers him!))

So when everything in Yuuri's life goes off the rails, and Yakov offers to coach him because Georgi decides to retire... Yuuri accepts but only if Yakov takes him seriously and will honestly help him try and beat Viktor (because he's pissed off that Viktor has never, ever acknowledged him again even though they promised to meet each other on the ice again someday, and Yuuri has been skating in Seniors for FIVE YEARS and Viktor has not so much as said hello to him except for one condescending offer for a commemorative photo on the worst day of his life, so Viktor can kindly go and fuck himself).

So we have mistaken identity. Misunderstandings. Them kinda hating each other at the beginning. (The banquet does happen mostly as it did in canon, and leaves Viktor a bit confused.) Rivalry. Stuck living together/next to each other. And all the shenanigans that come with it...

It wouldn't really be fair to not snippet this while I've given snippets of all the others, would it?

Yuuri shakes his head and scatters the thoughts.  It was pointless thinking about the past.  Especially since it was all lies.  Horrible lies.  He tugs at the blue tie at his neck.  He hates it.  Usually it’s his favourite tie in the whole world, chosen solely for the color because it always reminded him of Viktor’s eyes.

Yuuri stopped denying his massive crush on Viktor sometime around sixteen.  In fact, he openly embraced it, horrible (according to just about everyone) tie and all.

With a yank, Yuuri undoes the hated thing, lets it fall to the floor in a crumpled heap and, with a swift kick, sends it under the bed before collapsing on the edge of the bed himself.  He really doesn’t want to go to this banquet.  He wants to sit in his bed, wrapped up in all of the covers, order terribly-bad-for-him room service food (like a zillion syrniki with all the jam and full fat sour cream he can cram into his mouth, and then top that off with one of the many many cakes he saw on the menu as well, and maybe trying to develop a taste for vodka) that he can’t afford and Skype-movie watch The King and Skater with Phichit and simply, shamelessly wallow.

The exact same thing he’d done the night before.

Celestino wasn’t going to let him, though. He’d been clear that Yuuri had to go to the banquet, that he couldn’t let one bad skate deter him from his plan.

His plan?  His plan had blown up in Yuuri’s face the moment it was obvious that Viktor didn’t remember him at all.  His plan was over.  Finished.  Kaput.  Yuuri sighs and flops backward so he’s laying down and staring at the ceiling.  When “All the Single Ladies” starts ringing out from his phone, he answers the Facetime call without looking.

“Why are we looking at a hotel ceiling, Yuuri?”  Phichit’s voice is way too chipper for Yuuri’s mood, which is foul at best.

“I hate my tie.”

The Hallelujah Chorus erupts from the phone and Yuuri doesn’t even question how Phichit was able to summon the clip of music so quickly, having long ago learned that his friend was just magic.  He shakes his head, not even caring that the camera is still directed toward the ceiling so Phichit has no way of seeing his reaction.

“Lucky for you, I love you.  Check inside your spare set of running shoes.”

With another sigh, Yuuri heaves himself off the bed and bends down to rifle through his suitcase.  His anxiety always led to him over-packing, usually in a fit of worry that he needed to be prepared if something went wrong.  In this case, it manifested in an extra set of running shoes, two whole sets of toiletries, and a rolled poster of Viktor.  He takes the latter and tosses it in the closest garbage bin to him, then sticks his hand into the running shoes, fingers closing around a crinkly plastic bag, and pulls it out.

“You sent me a tie?”

From the phone, Phichit laughs.  “I always send an extra tie with you.  I’ve lived in vain hope that one day you’d realise that tie was the worst, and that day is apparently today.”

In his hands is a burgundy silk tie with the thinnest floral design in a dark, dark blue that will match his suit.  It’s perfect. Yuuri sniffles; he doesn’t deserve Phichit, and tells him as much.

“I know you don’t, but I like you, so you’re stuck with me. Take all the selfies ever. Don’t forget to get Chris’s autograph for me, dance with the Crispino twins and try to get Mickey to doubt his own sexuality for everyone’s sake - but mostly his sister’s - and remember, we all love you and one bad skate doesn’t make you a worthless skater.”

Yuuri rolls his eyes and looks at his best friend. “I’ll try.”

“Have fun, Yuuri-kun. And next year I promise it’ll be the both of us at the banquet, showing off our medals!”  Phichit blows him a kiss and the call disconnects. 

~~~

Chris laughs, but gamely takes the folded schedule out of Yuuri's hand and rifles through a pocket for a pen before finally pulling out a gold Sharpie. “If I can't win gold I might as well sign in gold, right?” He winks and Yuuri shakes his head, threading his fingers through his hair and pushing his bangs back in an anxious movement. As luck would have it, he has just enough product in his hair to make it stay. He sighs. He'll fix his hair later - after another glass of champagne. 

“You were flawless in the short-” Yuuri pauses. “Sorry, I didn't manage to catch your free.”

Chris laughs again and Yuuri finds it incredibly unfair that the laughter comes so easily to him. “It was also flawless, of course. Now if only my PCS was as high as yours. That and one more quad would topple Vikky from his perch.”

It would. Well, Yuuri's normal level of PCS would. This time around, the PCS score on his free was abysmal. “Are you working on a new quad?” It was always easier to talk to Chris than Yuuri thought it'd be, as intimidating as it was actually start a conversation with the other skater. 

Another chuckle escapes from between Chris’s glossed lips. “And tell my competition?” This time Chris adds a wink.  It was nice to be thought of as competition, but Yuuri knows that Chris doesn't really mean it. “Honestly, no. You remember that injury a couple of years ago? Adding a new quad would probably just lead to another one, and I'm trying to avoid that. I'm already one of the oldest.”

Yuuri rolls his eyes. “You're not old. You've got plenty of skating left to do.”

Chris raises an eyebrow at him. Yuuri thinks it's strange that this man is the same person he used to share the podium with in Juniors. Back then Chris was so… wholesome. “Everyone's heard about that reporter asking about you retiring. And you're telling me that I'm not old enough to retire?”

Yuuri feels the color rise in his cheeks.  It hadn't only been one reporter. Apparently the rumor has already started going through the mill. “I haven't made any decisions about what I'm going to do after this season.”

Chris leans in close and Yuuri feels the blush on his cheeks darken. He knows that look; Chris is after more information, and the slow smile that stretches his lips is practically predatory. “I don't believe you,” he says, his accent thicker than it's been all night. 

“It's true!” Yuuri squeaks. And it was. He is thinking about retirement, but he hasn't decided yet if it's a thing he's actually ready for -- leaving the ice. 

Chris pushes the piece of paper back into Yuuri's hand. “Well don't. That's my opinion.  Not when you've finally made it to the Final.”

Only to crash and burn. Yuuri looks down at the paper and grips it tighter. It took him years to get this far and he couldn't just give up, Viktor or no Viktor. He nods. “Yeah.”  When he looks up at Chris’s face again, it's with a new determination. 

“That’s the sparkle I like seeing in your eyes. See you later, Yuuri.”

Yuuri spins and heads straight for the table with all the champagne glasses, laid out in neat, inviting rows. He downs two of them in quick succession before turning back to stare across the expanse of the ballroom to where Chris is standing, talking with one of the top brass of the ISU. From the looks of it, he is receiving a rather in-depth lecture that he couldn't care less about. The champagne is making Yuuri warm and he runs his finger under the collar of his shirt; thinks about undoing his tie, but thinks better of it; grabs another two glasses of champagne, and goes off to fulfill the next task on his to-do list: Dance with the Crispino Twins and make Mickey doubt his sexuality. 

The fact that Yuuri isn't even questioning the latter half of that “task” means that he shouldn't have any more champagne, but his skin is tingling with the buzz of the fizzy drink. He quickly finishes off the glass in his right hand before setting it on a passing tray, then reaches out to grab Sara's hand. “Dance with me?” 

She giggles. “Yuuri, of course I'll dance with you. “ 

They leave her brother sputtering; the other member of their group, the female half of the lovely German pair skaters, gives him a curious look. Yuuri levels his finger at the two of them and says “I'll be back for you.”

Both Mickey and the German skater point to themselves and Sara laughs, pulling Yuuri toward the dance floor. 

Yuuri hands his now-empty second glass off to someone standing next to the dance floor and spins Sara into a Foxtrot. She sounds absolutely giddy as they move around the room. Her giggles are infectious, and Yuuri finds himself smiling and giggling too as he twirls her around. 

The dance leaves her breathless, but it invigorates Yuuri. He plucks another glass of champagne and presents it to Sara with a flourish before grabbing another for himself.  “You are a lovely partner, Sara.”

Color flares across her cheeks and she takes a sip. “So are you, Yuuri. Promise me that we'll dance again at Worlds?” 

Yuuri nods and hands Sara off to the redhead who is now standing with Sara's brother and the German skater. “I hope you know how to Tango,” he says as he reaches for Mickey’s hand. “Actually, it doesn't matter. I’ll lead.”

He pulls Mickey - - sputtering all the while - - to the dance floor to the raucous giggles and laughter of the girls that he's left behind. It's been awhile since he tangoed, but his body remembers and he pulls Mickey into the proper position, one hand low on his back, and presses their fronts together. Mickey squawks, but doesn't try to leave as they start dancing. 

Mickey’s face is bright red when Yuuri dips him, their faces only a breath apart. The champagne coursing through his veins eggs him on, and he leans in and brushes his lips against the bloom of color. There is whooping and applause, and suddenly this is more like a performance than drowning his troubles. It feels like an exhibition skate, Yuuri can do no wrong, so he dances some more, returning a completely breathless Mickey to his sister, color still high in his cheeks. 

Yuuri's pretty confident he can cross both Crispino Twin tasks off his lists. 

He hears the sound of an annoying Russian and spins on one foot toward the voice. “You! Yuri Plisetsky. You want to know why Viktor was calling out your step sequence? It's because it really does need work. You can't use something that lackluster in the Senior division. Take it from me. Don't take it from Viktor, though. He could use a little work on his step sequences himself if you want my honest opinion. He's coasting, not even really trying anymore; if he didn't have so many quads and the ISJ point system didn't overvalue jumps and undervalue actual skating, there's no way he would have beat Chris. I would have beat him, even though I fell on all my jumps--”

Yuri Plisetsky is staring at him, eyes wide and mouth open in shock. Vaguely, he notices that Viktor is standing just behind the littler Yuri. “A demonstration. Try and keep up, kid.”

“Ooh,” comes Chris’s voice from not far off. “I think little Yuri has been challenged to a dance off.”

“Yes!” Yuuri exclaims. “Exactly. Loser retires first.”

[erenoir]

welcome to flavortown

the one where the aot boys are in charge of the grill. the messy headcanons no one asked for </3.

genre: grill master!aot boys, summer vibes only, hot husbands in charge of the barbecue, slightly corny, guy fieri type beat

warnings: none baby we’re having a barbecue just bring a side, cursing, meat?

featuring: s4! connie, armin, eren, jean, levi + erwin

a/n: is this a joke? no, no it’s not <3. i thought about this once + now it’s a full fantasy, please indulge with me. maybe i’m just hungry, who knows <3.

connie grills hot dogs

he keeps it simple with his meats. he doesn’t love manning the grill, but he loves trying to impress you.

will definitely flex his biceps while flipping the hot dogs as if he’s lifting 50 pound weights.

he has like three open beers on the table next to him.

yes he’s drinking them all at once.

you walk up to him with another beer as he leans over the grill and puckers his lips at you.

“dame un besito mama.”

he didn’t ask to be born latina.

wipes his forehead with a towel he keeps around his neck.

wears an apron that says “kiss the cook” on it.

twirls the spatula around his fingers like it's a drumstick.

why he has a spatula to cook hot dogs, you don't know.

"what are hot dogs even made out of babe?"

"meat goop?!"

"'s some damn good meat goop."

"i'm gordon ramsay up in this bitch baby!"

connie my love you’re grilling pre-cooked hot dogs.

leaves the grill to watch the football game in the living room for a second.

he was gone for thirty minutes.

“the hot dogs are burnt baby.”

“okay let’s just order take out.”

“pizza?” “pizza.”

armin grills steaks.

armin grills steaks because he’s big brain.

it is hard to grill a perfect steak guys but he nails it everytime.

uses a meat thermometer to make sure the inside is cooked perfectly.

pokes at the steak while it’s on the grill with his finger to see if it’s done or not.

gets eye level with the steaks to make sure the sear is perfect.

will not cook a steak above medium because he insists you lose flavor once you start overdoing it.

he’s a new york strip type of boy OR sirloin, only the best for his baby.

he’ll splurge on nice sides, armin loves a nice anti pasta salad.

red wine in plastic wine glasses. sets up a nice outdoor picnic table spread.

would also serve you your food and bring it to you while you’re in the pool.

will not let you lift a finger, he wants you to relax on your flamingo floatie.

would take your steak back to the grill if it wasn’t cooked the way you liked.

you didn’t want to tell him yours was a little underdone because it wasn’t that big of a deal to you and he worked so hard.

but he notices your face as you take your first bite.

“you don’t like it.”

“no! sweetie i love it i— “it’s not cooked enough.”

“here let me put it back on the grill for you.”

you insist he doesn’t have to, it was only a few degrees off.

“i want you to enjoy your meal darling, i’ll be right back.”

eren grills burgers.

he can’t be bothered to grill anything else, don’t ask him to do anything complex.

burgers. on the grill. buns. cheese. ketchup. done.

you give him a shopping list of what he needs to get and send him off.

“why do we need all of this for burgers babe??”

“toppings eren, toppings.”

forgets like half of the things on the list.

comes back with the store brand of everything you asked for bc he’s a grill master on a budget babes.

gets pissed when you ask him if he could go back to the store to get what he forgot.

“eren how do you expect people to eat burgers without onions?!”

“who the fuck likes onions babe?”

grills in a skimpy little white tank top.

struggles to light the charcoal, but he insists he doesn’t need help.

“eren just let me do it— “i got it babe!!”

gets himself extra sweaty because he likes to get you frustrated.

eren mixes his drinks while he grills. like chaotic nasty drinks.

the burgers are overcooking while he pours some vodka into his red bull.

definitely has one of those gatorade bottles that squirt.

asks you to shoot some water into his mouth while he’s grilling. spatula in one hand, mouth open and his face turned to you.

“okay now babe.”

messy bun eren cooking burgers.

wears black adidas slides on the patio with his swim shorts.

“gourmet burger, courtesy of chef eren babe,” he says smugly.

doesn’t serve you but lays out the toppings for you so you can have your own little burger bar.

jumps in the pool once he’s done cooking, you watch him swim around while you eat your kids cuisine.

jean grills ribs.

jean soaks the ribs in a special marinade overnight.

“the meat has to fall off the bone honey.”

loves a good rib rub.

mf rubbing all types of seasonings on his ribs.

he’s a fan of a dry rub but loves having various sauce options on the side for you two.

makes extra ribs because he wants to take them to work for lunch throughout the week.

back to the sauces, jean is a sauce man. he’s got the sauce in more ways than one.

chipotle honey, spicy barbecue, teriyaki, you name it.

jean grills shirtless.

jean wears a sweatband around his head, he takes grilling very seriously.

“i’m the man! i gotta grill! don’t you touch the grill honey i’m gonna serve you!”

no seriously don’t touch the grill.

his ribs have to cook at a specific temperature.

definitely don’t take the lid off the grill to check on the ribs either, you’ll let all the steam out.

“how do you know they’re not burning babe?”

“you have to trust the integrity of the rib honey. when have i ever made a bad rib?”

he was right, he never made a bad rib.

sings the chili’s baby back ribs song while he grills.

“i want my baby back baby back baby back.”

sings the high parts.

drinks jack daniel’s whiskey while he grills.

definitely throws a splash of whiskey from his glass onto the ribs here and there.

jean looks at you intently as you take your first bite, he likes to watch your reactions.

“it’s fucking good right honey?”

“it’s fucking good baby.”

levi grills salmon.

BOUGIE BABY.

levi doesn’t just grill for anything. there has to be a special occasion.

why would he want to smell like meat and charcoal just to grill a measly burger.

so he grills salmon, and you two are having a couple’s day by the pool.

you two have a fancy pool where the hot tub is attached, and one of those rock slides.

levi grills in a simple cotton t-shirt, doesn’t want to stink up his nice clothes.

levi drinks wine while he grills, swirling it as he flips the salmon.

he drinks red.

and he brings out the crystal wine glasses from the special cabinet.

he likes to listen to classic rock while he grills.

doesn’t want you to touch the grill because he doesn’t want you to burn yourself.

also doesn’t trust you with his expensive cuts of salmon.

no because he went to the butcher specifically and got the salmon that they caught that day.

he keeps it fresh, enjoys a simple, refreshing lemon garnish on his fish.

“i don’t need help, just go sit by the pool.”

“but—

“go.”

“i blew up your favorite lounge chair… now go,” he mumbles.

“the one with the!—

“yes the one with the cup holders. now take your wine and stop bothering me, tch.”

you fell asleep floating in the middle of your pool on your favorite lounge chair with the cup holders.

levi splashes water on you to wake you up.

“hey! dinner’s ready.”

acts like grilling was no big deal for him.

but secretly awaits your response as you bite into your salmon.

“so?”

“it’s good levi!”

he rolls his eyes but smiles small enough that you wouldn’t notice.

erwin grills chicken.

an underrated grill item.

you can’t go wrong with a classic chicken wing.

but erwin doesn’t make just any plain chicken wings.

he loves a buffalo wing.

king loves a little bit of spice.

he marinates the wings in frank’s hot sauce the night before.

you were sat at the kitchen counter watching his shoulder blades flex as he tossed the wings in the sauce around the bowl.

the next day he wakes up bright and early to get the backyard ready for you guys.

turns the heater on in the pool because he knows you like it at a certain temperature.

he grills so… elegantly. like a gazelle.

erwin wears a navy blue robe while he grills, with his swim shorts underneath.

his chest hair pokes out a bit from the top.

he doesn’t get his hands dirty, he uses a pair of tongs to flip the wings.

he holds a can of beer in the other hand.

he watches you tan next to the pool.

he even joins you for a bit while the wings cook.

he massages one of your hands in his, while you hold a magazine in the other.

erwin is a very organized chef, he has everything timed down to a t.

ERWIN WEARS RAY-BAN AVIATOR SUNNIES.

fuck.

okay sorry, he wears gold aviator sunnies at the bridge of his nose as he lowers the heat on the grill to let the wings simmer.

erwin does the dad thing where he puts his hands on his hips and just looks out into the yard and nods silently.

except he’s holding a cigar in one hand.

erwin is in the process of building you a wooden flowerbed.

he’s a handyman. a home depot commercial theme song type of man.

swats the smoke away from the grill as he opens it up.

erwin serves you two your wings on a wooden board like they do at barbecue restaurants.

chicken wing charcuterie board type beat.

“sweetheart? wings are ready!” he calls to you from the grill.

you eat your wings poolside, toasting your beer cans.

“to a happy, healthy marriage sweetheart.”

i’m not gonna shut up about the sunglasses.

you have matching sunglasses.

a/n: this was rushed but i just HAD to get this off my plate 🍽

[girlbossminerva]

I forgot how heteronormative the Fairy Tail fandom was back in 2015-2019, it could have been happening way before, but still.

Whenever I read fanfics religiously, I began reading Fairy Tail fanfiction years ago and it was always one of these books, that I read and it was either betrayal stories (I will not specify, some may already know) or...

Slayer Season stuff, kill me, and when reading these stories, I would see ships... I had no idea even existed but because I was dumb as hell and didn't finish the show, meaning I was walking on eggshells towards spoilers, I didn't but I remember Acnologia being mentioned and it unlocked some shitty memories.

AnnaLogia (Anna Heartfilia x Acnologia)

RogUra (Rogue Cheney x Kagura Mikazuchi

Don't know how this came to be, people see them as the Natsu and Lucy of the past but my interception being that Acnologia is a genocidal type of guy while Anna barely knows of his existence, I don't want their defenders coming after me when I say I ship AnnRene (Anna x Irene) Wait- Milfs together, Irene being with someone who won't leave her, can listen to her, while they stay in the library finding information and sharing with each other in a cottage- GUESS WHO JUST GOT A NEW CRACK SHIP- men didn't work out for Irene, so women would do much better- all in all, I understand what they're going for, but just no. Just no.

RogUra (Rogue Cheney x Kagura Mikazuchi

I don't understand. How in the fu-, I think what they were going for was how Kagura owned Yukino's life for about three days, and in the equivalent of StinYu, they needed RoguRa, They've never had any interaction, Kagura only argued with Sting over Yukino being in Mermaid Heel or SaberTooth, but even with all her interaction with men, she lacks interest in them, hell even Mashima didn't show signs of any guy approaching Kagura, fuck I might have jinxed my girl, although it pissed me off on how she got exposed to a lot of men in her "fight" against Dimaria, when Kagura is with Erza, genuinely she's more romantic with Erza instead of a MALE, Kagura KISSED Erza, KISSED!! Farther than any of the semi-canon ships can come up to, Kagura asked to be little Erza's little sister? Nah, it was avoiding her obvious wlw attraction, Rogue never interacted with her, he acknowledges her abilities, Kagura vs Millianna, he was genuine Kagura would win, I mean ofc she would, he saw her against Yukino, against Lyon and that mf is strong.

#Monet just rants

Go off queen!!

A lot of ships, specially some so-called crackships from the fandom really are rooted in heteronormativity, like with Rogue x Kagura or bickslow x lisanna (which later got more people actually putting in the thought process for their dynamic but i'm convinced it started to get lis out of the way of nalu), i don't know what kind of brain rot the early fandom had to just write "female character is hated on for no reason" or "smut that's this 👌 close to being omegaverse". I started reading ft fics in like 2014 and the first one i read was a just so full of lisanna and loke bashing cause of course they're "keeping Lucy and Natsu from being able to date each other", and today i find it so out of place cause i remember the rest of the plot was perfectly fine.

I feel like annalogia is like EndLu two electric boogaloo, like the pipeline was: nalu->EndLu ->AcnoLu (i remember seeing that being shipped)-> Annalogia

Which is objectively inferior to Annarene, like if you want to ship her with someone who's partially a dragon Irene is right there and asking for her character to do something. I'm a big fan of the possible things you can do with them even if I have never written about them besides them being funky lesbian vodka aunts in a luvia selkie au and i also love when milfs are paired together.

Shipping Kagura with any male character should be considered lesbophobia (/j). Of all possibly canon queer characters, i think she's the one where is the most explicit that she's a into women even before she kissed Erza, and has never shown the interest to men that other female characters have. To ship her with any guy, but ESPECIALLY with rogue who i think she has never had a meaningful conversation with (correct me if i'm wrong) is heteronormativity at it's finest and i have the theory it was made like that because people who shipped sabertooth members with each other were too cowardly to consider sting x yukino x rogue and Minerva was not redeemed yet. Kagura is like peak dyke activity/relatability, even if she did confuse her attraction to Erza, this woman has never non-platonically liked men in her life.

And ok i know some of these ships have shippers that actually see how they could happen or how it would work out in canon. more power to you, that's not my issue. my issue is that it's obvious many of the most accepted "crackships" were straight because the fandom couldn't even fathom lesbianism as a viable option