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matthewtkachuk · 3 months

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last night (blame it on the vodka)

They say drunk words are sober thoughts, so what are drunken confessions of love?

pairing: matthew tkachuk x reader

warnings: a pinch of angst, swearing, alcohol (and its after effects - aka a fat hangover and a twinge of regret)

word count: 3k

a/n: matthew tkachuk is a stanley cup champion!!!! you know i had to do it to ya. ps this idea was formed a million years ago (pre trade) therefore I have simply plucked Cowboys from downtown Calgary to downtown Miami deal with it. big ups to @wyattjohnston for the edit and for outsourcing my geography queries. title and inspo from the song by the same name by lucy spraggan. enjoy my loves and let me know what you think <3

You’re never drinking again.

It’s a mantra you repeat all morning, from the minute you’re dragged back into consciousness by the sound of construction down on the street, to when you finally pull from bed to dramatically slam the window shut, to the one-two-three-four times you end up with your knees on the bathroom mat and your head in the toilet.

You’re far too old to be drinking like that on a nearly empty stomach, far too old to be drinking like that regardless. Okay, maybe that’s a tad dramatic, being a mostly single twenty something year old in downtown Miami. Mostly single in that every time you drank, your painfully unrequited crush on probably the one guy in all of Florida you couldn’t pull came out with a vengeance.

Looking at your phone and all the unread texts you groan, realizing that the little girl who used to write ‘Mrs. Matty Tkachuk’ in all of her diaries came out in full force last night.

Hyping yourself up, you type out and forward the message ‘What the hell did I do last night?’ to everyone you remember being out with you. Everyone, that is, except Matty himself.

Brielle: Last night you told him you loved him

It’s not atypical for you to be out on a Friday night, a group of your closest girlfriends at your side. Neither is it uncommon for the night to begin with the three of you taking thirst traps for the ‘gram before taking shots as the Uber pulls up.

Cowboys is a favorite place, certainly not for the high class atmosphere or clientele—of which you’ll find neither. But who doesn’t love to let loose in an environment where the city boys of Miami don Stetsons and large belt buckles? And okay, maybe you’re a bit of a gambler—though, with money or love as the currency depends on the night.

Tonight you’re pressing your luck, drinking enough to dull the edge and to keep you from overreacting to Matt’s response to the aforementioned Insta story. It’s a simple message, a string of fire emojis, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t refresh the app until his username appeared as ‘Seen’ under the story.

You don’t want to think it means anything when he shows up with a couple of his boys an hour into dancing with the girls. Cowboys is a popular place, evidenced by the crowded dance floor and the complete lack of personal space. So what Brielle was wearing a cowboy hat in one of the pictures and so what everyone and their mother knew this bar was your favorite place to spend Friday nights and so what you’d even tagged the place in a boomerang of your shot glasses five minutes after arriving.

It didn’t mean anything—doesn’t mean anything.

That thought doesn’t stop you from abandoning your friends the second you see the all too familiar head of curls.

“Hi Matty,” you greet, stumbling into him and sliding your hand around his waist. He feels solid beneath your fingertips, warm and secure and everything you’ve ever wanted. His resulting grin could build and topple empires, you think.

But then reality all comes crashing down again as he slides his arm around your shoulders in turn, squeezing gently as he replies, “Hey, Kid.”

It’s the gentle reminder you’ll never be anything more than the annoying girl next door who used to follow him and Brady around like they were the greatest thing in the world.

If he notices the way you deflate, he doesn’t say a word, though his hand rubs comfortingly at your shoulder for a moment until you can’t stand it anymore and go back to your friends and their sympathetic faces.

The thing about you when you drink is the filter comes off. Normally you play your cards close to your chest, making it very hard for others to know your emotions. But a little vodka and you’re suddenly ready to face your feelings head on.

It starts off innocently enough, an over exaggerated ‘I love you!’ when he brings you a drink without you having to ask. But then Georgia is all but holding you down to prevent you from running after him and professing your love. She doesn’t succeed, what with you running into his arms midway through the night anyway.

He has that same grin on his face as you tell him how much you love him, and though he doesn’t mean it the way you do, he tells you that he loves you too just the same.

Though you haven’t eaten in at least twelve hours, the thought of food makes your already upset stomach turn some more, and so you settle for making a cup of tea to get some fluids back in you.

Not quite ready to face the music in terms of what your alcohol fueled self did last night, you ignore the unread messages to flip through some Insta stories. There’s cute pics and videos of you and your girls, you screen shot your favorites and tap away until you pause on a boomerang of Georgia and Brielle. It’s cute enough if you ignore the small stain by Bri’s collar where she’d lost some of the second tequila shot. Oh, and you looking up at Matthew with the most pathetic lovesick look on your face in the background.

It unsettles your stomach further, and so you abandon all plans of tea—turning off your kettle and grabbing the water bottle you’d prepped for yourself before you left last night and taking up residence on the couch.

Putting on a random movie from your childhood on Disney+, you lay back and cover yourself with your favorite quilt. Another wave of nausea washes over you, and so you prop yourself up with a few extra pillows and fall asleep sitting up.

It mustn’t be more than half an hour of uninterrupted sleep before you’re pulled out of it by the incessant buzzing of your phone. It’s a set of four pictures of you on Matt’s lap and another incriminating tidbit from the night before.

Georgia: Last night you told him you need him

“Shut up Sammy,” you glare, angrily poking his chest with your index finger. You’re grateful for the uncharacteristic change in nail shape at your last manicure, the stiletto tip serving as a makeshift weapon that actually makes him wince before laughing in your face.

Truthfully, you’re not sure how the night got to this point—you and your girls hanging around a table with Matty and his boys. You’re not complaining though, not with how your bare legs pressed to Matty’s jeans or how his arm rests above your shoulders, fingertips brushing your skin now and then.

Matt can spot a fight coming from a mile away, well versed in the language that is your rage from the countless years he was the source of it, pulling on your pigtails and breaking your barbies.

“That’s not my name,” Sam rolls his eyes, rubbing his chest and stealing a swig of your beer. “Lightweight.”

He’s referring to your drunken state and the fact that Matt himself had to drag you to the table with the promise of a Bud Light if, and only if, you drank an entire glass of water. Narrowing your eyes, you begin to lunge at him again, stopped only by the force of Matt pulling you onto his lap and wrapping an arm around your waist, one hand resting on your stomach and the other on your bare knee.

The effects of being wrapped up in him are almost instantaneous. Your rage quickly simmers, your body relaxes and you all but sink into the embrace. You quiet then, content to let the rest of the table do the talking for the moment while you memorize the feel of his arms.

It’s a nervous habit to fiddle with the small charm around your neck, something you do unconsciously, not even noticing until it’s somehow come undone in your grasp.

“Matty, I need you,” you whisper against the side of his face, watching his eyes darken and the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. He opens his mouth to speak but you interrupt with your fist coming at his face with your necklace clenched tightly within.

He visibly relaxes, motioning for you to lean forward and swiping your hair to the side.You grab the strands of your hair after he takes the necklace from you, shivering as his cold hands drag across your skin.

Georgia is shaking her head at you from across the table, having clearly read your lips and witnessed the little moment. You just smile and shrug at her before pressing a chaste kiss to the skin of Matt’s jaw. “Thank you.”

You’re pretty sure you’re dying. By the grace of some higher power, you haven’t seen the inside of your bathroom in a hot minute. Yes, you’ve finally moved past stage one of your hangover, however you’re not out of the woods yet. You’re dying a slow death on the couch—feeling yourself dip more and more into dangerous dehydration levels despite the giant water bottle on your coffee table that had been a gag gift from Matt last Christmas.

Truthfully, the room is still a little spinny and your stomach still a little unsettled, but perhaps the worst of it all is the splitting headache and the sore throat. Both ailments make sense, you’re a yeller when you drink and you’re certain last night was no exception—even if the memories are slow to return to you.

It’s not aggression, not really. It’s more that your body can’t contain all the emotions that you so carefully hide in your day to day life, and without the control that sobriety brings, you’re wont to let them all spill out.

And really, you can’t linger on the what ifs too long, so you settle back in for another nap as an attempt to sleep off the symptoms of your poorly thought out night out with another movie playing as background noise.

Elizabeth has just rejected Darcy when your phone lights up three times.

sam: let’s just say you’re screwed if you ever wake up in vegas

you: fuck off sammy

sam: still not my name, lightweight

sam: at least I didn’t propose last night

“You know, Sammy,” you slur, no longer angry but keeping up the nickname in hopes that the table will think you are and Matty will let you stay in his arms. “You’re very lucky Liz agreed to marry you because other than the hockey thing you really have no redeeming qualities.”

“At least someone wanted to marry me,” he retorts not unkindly.

“Matty would marry me,” you state confidently, tilting your head back to look up at the man beneath you. “Wouldn’t you, Matty?”

“Gonna have to get down on one knee, Kid,” Matty laughs, shaking your body slightly from where it leans against him. The dopiest smile crosses your face at the sound and you know you’re being far too obvious but you can’t help it. Matty laughing is your favorite sound, and happiness looks so good on him. There’s nothing you hate more than seeing him sad or upset. Nothing except dirty, sticky bar floors, which makes your next actions even more comical.

Pulling from his arms for the first time in what feels like an eternity—not that you were complaining—you jump from the table and dramatically flop down to one knee.

“Matthew—M-Matty,” you hiccup, keenly aware of the dozens of eyes on you and yet utterly uncaring of any of them except the icy blue you stare into now. “You’re my b-best friend. Marry me?”

The look he gives you is fond if frigid, not at all the passionate love declaration you were hoping for. Pouting deeply, you don’t move to pull up from the floor. “Is that a no?”

“It’s a ‘not right now’,” he answers, getting up himself and pulling you up by your armpits. You wrap around him like a vine, not even protesting as he leads you to the bar to grab another glass of water and some appetizers for the table.

God, you really regret asking about last night. Maybe it was better to live in beautiful, blissful ignorance — if you never remembered all the embarrassing behavior did it really happen?

Unfortunately your vibrating phone simply refuses to let that happen.

brielle: and you totally ate shit on the pavement leaving the bar last night

That certainly explains the dull ache of your biceps, having caught the weight of you alongside breaking your fall. Luckily that appears to be the extent of the damage, given you can wiggle all of your fingers and toes and no other part of your body stings.

Just your ego is bruised.

“Why would we go home?” you ask, gesturing wildly at the emptying bar around you as though it were still the hopping venue of an hour ago.

“Cause the bar staff would like to go home too,” Brielle explains kindly.

“So we go to the next bar? I’m sure there’s somewhere still open, it’s only midnight!”

Matty’s arm is heavy and warm and secure as it wraps around your shoulder to guide you to the exit. “I’ve already called us an Uber.”

You preen at the mention of an ‘us’ between you and Matt, suddenly docile and calm, allowing him to guide you outside.

Far too preoccupied with the weight of him, you miss the broken piece of sidewalk and subsequently toe pick the crack, ending up face down on the pavement.

Matt is quick, pulling you to your feet with ease and examining your face and upper body for damage. “You alright?”

“If I say no, will you kiss it better?” you crack back, only half joking.

Shaking his head at your antics, he guides you into the waiting car before sliding in beside you.

You’re quite content to lean your head on his shoulder the whole drive home, arm curled around his before letting him lead you to your bed.

A joke about inviting him into your bed doesn’t leave your lips, momentarily mesmerized by the gentle way he tucks you in, the soft press of his lips to your forehead.

Could it possibly get worse, you wonder.

Matty: let me up?

He’s got a key for emergencies, and although you usually appreciate that he doesn’t misuse it, in this case you almost wish he would let himself in.

It would give you some extra time to compose yourself and—to be quite honest—you do yet harbor a little fear that getting vertical might have you running for the bathroom once again.

Neither of those things happen—he doesn’t let himself in and you don’t throw up on your way to the door. You make quick work of the lock before opening the door to reveal Matthew looking as well rested as you’ve ever seen him.

The contrast between the two of you is likely a stark difference, but his face doesn’t give anything away if he’s thinking it too.

His first words to you are simple, full of care and compassion. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got hit by a bus that then backed right over me again,” you answer truthfully.

His responding giggle makes your insides feel warm and you can only hope you don’t have the tell tale lovesick look on your face. There’s a moment of quiet contemplation—his chest visibly puffs up and then deflates as he takes a steeling breath.

“You said some things last night,” he says and you feel your blood run ice cold in your veins.

You attempt to deflect. “I say a lot of things, Matty. Especially when I’ve gotten into the Tito’s.”

He shakes his head and takes a step towards you. “Last night you said you loved me.”

“Of course I love you, you’re my best friend.” It’s not a lie, not completely anyway. You love him. He’s your best friend. So what if that love you have for him is something a little bit more than friendship?

He shakes his head again, little ringlets of curls shaking with the motion. “Didn’t sound friendly. You said you needed me.” His voice is rough, tone something heavy.

“To fix my necklace, Matty. What are you doing?” Your voice in response is a little wild—short clipped sentences spoken in quick succession.

He appears frustrated. Not necessarily at you, you don’t think, but it’s clear on his face. “That’s not—You said you wanted to marry me, got down on one knee even.

“I was drunk, it’s not that deep.”

He takes the remaining steps toward you, crowding your space and boxing you in with his arms. Yet you know with one word he would back off if you asked.

You don’t ask.

“But what if it is? What if I said that I love you too, that I need you too? That the only person who I’ve ever thought about marrying was you?”

“Matty, what are you doing?” you ask lowly, heart pounding so loud you fear he might hear it.

“Something I should have done a long time ago,” he murmurs and leans in until your lips barely touch.

It's the invitation you feel you’ve waited a lifetime for. No amount of doubt or hesitation or uncertainty is going to stop you from wrapping yourself around him and deepening the kiss.

It’s soft and sweet—two decades of buildup, of a beautiful friendship turned something more. It’s you and Matty the way it was always supposed to be—the way it was always going to end up.

#nhl fic #nhl fanfic #nhl fanfiction #nhl x reader #matthew tkachuk fic #matthew tkachuk fanfiction #matthew tkachuk x reader #shelb writes

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loveelle · 1 year

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Last Night

Jim Halpert x Reader

A/N: Well, took me a bit longer than I thought it would but here it is! The fic yall voted on the last few weeks! Not entirely sure how I feel about it, bit back and forth for me, changed quite a few ideas from when I first decided I was going to write based on this song, but yeah! Let me know what you think!

This fic is based on the song Last Night (Beer Fear) by Lucy Spraggan so I suggest giving it a listen to!

WC: 4.2K

Master

A/N2: When you see “---” that means a time skip forward or backward depending on where you are in the fic, hopefully that makes sense!

---

Your head hurt.

Oh god, did your head hurt.

You hated being hungover. Last time you were hungover this bad, it was the night before your college graduation and you promised yourself the next day that you would never drink that much again. Obviously, last night you decided to break that promise.

Your situation only proved worse when the alarm next to the bed went off, signaling it was 8 am. You slap your hand against the table, looking for your phone, but instead you’re met with a bedside clock, finally stopping its ear torturing sound. You barely have time to sigh in relief before you struggle to take in your surroundings. Your head was still pounding and your eyes refused to open all the way but one thing was certain.

This was not your room.

This was not your house.

You woke up in someone else’s house.

First things first, check for your clothes. With a simple glance down, your heart sinks. Gone was your Halloween costume from the last night and in its place was a T-shirt that wasn’t yours and by the looks of it on you, belong to a man, as well as a pair of shorts also not belonging to you.

“Shiiiiiit.” You whisper to yourself only seconds before a knock comes at the door. You jump in place, clutching the blanket close to your body and ignoring the urge to throw up everything you ate yesterday. The door opens much too slowly for your liking before a very, very familiar head of shaggy brown hair appears and every muscle in your body relaxes.

Jim smiles sheepishly when he sees you in his bed. Your hair was a mess and you were wearing one of his old shirts from college. There was a ghost of your smile when you realize it was just Jim coming in that made him smile wide himself.

“Morning, sleepyhead.” He chuckles, handing you a glass of water and an aspirin. You don’t say anything as you take the pill and glass from him, gulping it down as fast as you can. “How do you feel?”

“I can taste colors.” You grumble, putting the glass next to Jim’s alarm clock. Jim laughs. He was unsure what exactly to say, although you were in the same position. You glance around the room, silently taking it all in and waiting for the pounding right behind your eyes to stop. “It’s Saturday, why is your alarm going off?” You finally say, meeting Jim’s eyes with a squint.

Jim’s brows raise comically as he nods. “I like to wake up at the same time.” He shrugs.

You shake your head. “You’re supposed to sleep in on the weekends.” Jim exhales a quietier laugh and you watch him rock on his heels, unable to look you in the eye anymore. You clear your throat, clutching the blanket a little tighter. “Uh, Jim?” He hums, leaning on the wall behind him. “Last night, did we… um…” you weren’t really sure you wanted to finish that sentence, but luckily you didn’t have to. Jim was quick to shake his head and you let out a huge sigh of relief. “Oh, thank god.” He quirks a brow and your eyes widen. “I didn’t mean like… just that, you know, I was drunk and you were drunk… and we’re coworkers… and friends?”

“It’s alright.” Jim’s posture relaxes and you feel your cheeks heat up a little at the prospect.

“Not that it would be a bad thing.” You quickly say before you can stop yourself, hating the fact your hangover hadn’t stopped you or said something less painfully stupid.

“I know.” You nod your head at Jim’s words, leaning back on his pillow and closing your eyes. Then it struck you; it wasn’t the words Jim said, but how he said them. It was almost like he knew what exactly you were talking about. Almost like he could read your mind, Jim chuckles. “You really don’t remember much of the party last night, do you?”

You shake your head, your breath stuck in your throat. “Was it bad?”

Jim tilts his head, thinking about yesterday before a smile crosses his face.

---

Last Night…

Jim walks into the office 15 minutes after the office’s costume party was supposed to start. He will never understand why Michael decided on a costume party at the beginning of April, but here he was. There was bad music playing from the office that Jim could hear the moment he stepped out of the elevator, widening his eyes momentarily before adjusting the taped black circles on his torso and pulling the door open.

“Jimbo!” Michael calls out before the door even closed behind Jim. Jim breathes out a laugh, putting his hands in his pockets. “Welcome to the party!”

“Hey Mike.” Michael throws his arm over Jim’s shoulders, struggling a bit with the height of his employee.

Michael leads Jim throughout the office, where he sees his coworkers in all in different costumes with drinks in their hands. Michael finally lets Jim go with a pat and push on the shoulder as Jim snags a drink on his way out of the conference room. He runs into Kelly and Ryan, Kelly sporting a costume that Jim didn’t realize was supposed to be Taylor Swift, and Ryan as a police officer. He was just about to answer Kelly’s question of how he was doing before he spots you, Phyllis, and Pam talking in the kitchen. He smiles to himself before heading your way, catching your attention out of the corner of your eye.

Pam catches your smile growing at the sight of Jim as she nudges your arm. “Will you just tell him you like him already.” She whispers to you despite the glass door separating the two of you. You smack her arm gently, sipping from the red cup in your hand.

“No.”

“Come on, Y/N! Tonight’s the night!” Pam keeps pushing, raising her brows at you multiple times.

Your mouth drops open from her antics. “Pamela Beasley, how drunk are you?” She rolls her eyes at you. “Phyllis, can you tell Pam to lay off?”

“Oh no, Y/N. I’m on her side. I mean, if I never made the first move on Bob, we wouldn’t be married.” She says before grabbing an extra drink and leaving you and Pam, heading towards the Annex where she knows her husband currently is waiting for her.

You tilt your head in defeat, unsure what you expected from seeking Phyllis’ help.

“Tell him.” Pam says seconds before Jim opens the door. Your eyes widen and you can’t help but take another large sip of your drink, knowing if you were going to have any chance of telling Jim you’re desperately in love with him, alcohol would be your best friend.

Pam not-so-sneakily steps away from you as Jim comes in front of you, matching your smile. You look him up and down before adjusting the black dot on Jim’s chest that had started to fall down. “Three-hole punch Jim? Bringing back a classic?”

“Oh absolutely, I put a lot of work in this costume,” Jim hides his smile behind his cup as he takes a drink. He looks you up and down as well, only he takes a bit longer as his brows draw together. “And you are…?”

You chuckle, looking down at the white shirt and pants and black shawl you were wearing. “I’m a penguin.”

A cute penguin, Jim says to himself and before he has the chance to compliment your costume in a way less exposing of his feelings, Michael comes tripping into the kitchen, holding a drink in his hand.

“Jiiiiim! Y/NNNNN!” He says, pointing at the two of you. You and Jim stare at him, neither of you saying anything as Michael pants heavily, his face red from the no doubt numerous drinks he’s already had. He just smiles, looking between you both before he turns around to leave and you can faintly hear the sound of him calling out Ryan’s name as the door closes.

Jim and you fall into a fit of laughter, unsure what exactly to do about your drunk boss. “Why did he get so much alcohol?” Jim asks, shaking his head.

You shrug and finish off the last bit in your cup. “I have no idea, but I am certainly not complaining.” You step to the right of Jim, filling up your cup with the bottles Michael put in the kitchen earlier. “Can we even have this much in the office?” You ask and take a long sip.

Jim watches you carefully as you toss your head back, effectively finishing off the drink you just poured before he gulped. “I uh… I don’t know.” He quiets for a second as you fill up your cup again. “Sure you don’t want to slow down there?” He chuckles, although he is a bit worried for you.

You shake your head and smile. “Nope.” You pop the ‘p’. “It’s a party, Jim. And I’m gonna enjoy it.” You stick your cup in the air and Jim cheers against your cup, both of you taking a sip and your eyes widen after yours, starting to feel a bit of a buzz.

“Alright, but I’m not helping with you if you’re hungover tomorrow.” He says as the two of you walk out of the kitchen, joining the rest of the party in the conference room.

---

“That doesn’t sound too bad, I remember most of that and even what Pam, Phyllis and I were talking about.” You can’t imagine the story of last night will remain as boring as those first 15 minutes Jim had described. As long as you didn’t drink that much more after those three drinks.

“What were you guys talking about?”

Uh.

“Nothing?”

Jim chuckles, moving to finally sit down on the bed next to you, causing you to scootch over as he sits on top of the blankets, giving you all the space that you need in your hungover bliss.

“I take it forgot about your ‘bracelets’, then?” Jim smirks, unable to meet your eyes. Your stomach falls greatly, a small vague memory coming back to you as Jim continues his story.

---

Jim loses sight of you for a bit as he is pulled into a drinking game with Kevin and Meredith, narrowly beating Kevin but loosing to Meredith in a landslide. He glances around the conference room and into the bullpen but he doesn’t see you. Most of his coworkers were drunk, but he sees Angela in the corner, sipping on a lemonade in a black cat costume.

“Angela.” He calls out, making her sigh. “You’re not drinking?”

“I don’t drink at work.” She says, despite the fact she’s not currently working. Jim nods, taking another look around from the new spot in the room. “Besides, someone has to make sure no one does something stupid like drive.” Jim nods again, glad despite Angela’s resistance to the party, she is watching her coworkers. Angela stops watching her coworkers actions with disgust and looks up with Jim before sighing even louder. “She’s in the annex.”

Jim’s head snaps her way so fast that he almost spills his drink. “What?”

“Y/N. She’s in the annex with Ryan.” Jim knows he’s blushing at how obvious he was searching for you, but thanks her nonetheless. “Whatever.” She says and walks away to another corner, continuing to sip on her lemonade.

When Jim realizes Angela said you were alone with Ryan, he was quick to make his way out of the bullpen, hearing your laugh before he was even in the annex. When he does walk in, he’s greeted with you and Ryan a bit too close for his liking. “What’s going on?” He calls out and Ryan jumps back, one of his hands coming up to scratch the back of his neck and the other picking up his cup of beer on the table.

“Hey man,” Ryan says before downing his drink. Jim gives him a look of distrust before focusing on you.

“Jim!” Your eyes light up as you turn around to see who was there and right away Jim knows you’ve had quite a few more drinks or shots in his absence. The second thing he notices is the metal circling around your right wrist. You hold up the wrist to show him with a smile. “Do you like my bracelet?” the loose cuff almost smacks you in the face but you don’t react. Your smile, however, does fall the moment you get a good look at the costume piece. “Oh, wait…” you say to yourself. “They’re handcuffs.” You stare at the piece for a moment before smiling again. “I took them from the police.”

“You took them from the police?” Jim finally manages to say, wanting to make sure he doesn’t have to murder Ryan.

“She did.” Ryan is quick to nod. Jim still isn’t quick sure he believe him but once he’s focused on you again, you’ve got the bracelet off your wrist and chucking it at the temps head. Jim has to hold back a laugh as it knocks the hat off Ryan’s head, and smacks him in the face.

---

You’re quiet, burrowing your face in Jim’s pillow in embarrassment. “Oh my god.” You finally say.

Jim clears his throat. “You don’t uh, happen to remember exactly what was happening there, did you?”

Much to his relief you nod and say, “Yeah, I took his cuffs because I wanted to prove I could do a magic trick.”

“Can you do magic tricks?”

“I’ve never done a magic trick in my life.” You shake your head and pull the pillow away just in time for Jim and you to both start laughing again, although your embarrassment was reaching new levels of insane. “Please tell me that was all I did and I went home right after that.” Jim stays silent, but he looks right into your eyes, causing your heart to skip and your stomach to flip. “Please tell me I didn’t embarrass myself more.”

---

“Okay, I am taking you home.” Jim says and takes you by the hand, gently leading you out of the annex and through the kitchen. By the time you both enter the bullpen, Jim hears you gasp and he stops instinctively, thinking you might be hurt or sick or something.

You were staring at your intertwined hands with your mouth agape. Jim lets go of your hand slowly, but your expression doesn’t change. Instead, you make a sound that Jim can only describe as a squeal. The rest of the party around you falls quiet, all looking towards you and Jim.

Jim looks at them all and by the time he looks back at you, you were several feet shorter as you were on one knee.

---

“There is no way that happened.” You interrupt Jim, shaking your head once again and gripping the pillow tight.

Jim can only laugh hard, clutching his stomach from under the blanket, where he had moved during the course of the story. “You got on one knee.”

“There’s no way.”

“You asked me to marry you.”

“I asked you to marry me?” You are beyond embarrassed at this point. You are flustered and irritated and you want to go back in time to when you thought you could drink whatever you wanted at an office party. You went from simply embarrassing yourself to possibly outing your stupid little crush on your coworker. You want to leave, you want to hope this was all a dream and you were going to wake up in your own bed, but you have to know one thing first. “…Was there more?”

Jim is quiet for only a minute and you know instantly that last night wasn’t over yet.

---

“Marry me.” Your words were a bit slurred and quiet, but Jim definitely heard them and most likely your entire office did as well.

His heart is racing and his head is pounding and he doesn’t know exactly what to do, but before he can think, his drunk brain was already pulling you off the floor. “What’s that, Y/N? You want me to get you home? Now? Well, if you say so!” Before any of his coworkers could say anything, Jim is leading you out the front door of the office and calling for a cab on the way down the elevator.

You are leaning against him the entire way down and he can’t resist enjoying the feeling of you practically hugging him as he wraps his arms around you, keeping you together as you wait patiently for the taxi.

When it’s finally here, you are practically asleep in Jim’s arms, mumbling something about not drinking so much next time and for the first time all night, Jim thinks you might actually be okay. That is until you start crying in the taxi over the ending of some movie you had watched the day prior that Jim really can’t understand the name of. The taxi pulls up to Jim’s apartment and he struggles to get you through the door and up the stairs, cursing the elevator for being broken.

You’re finally in Jim’s bed and Jim lets out a sigh of relief, happy that you were safe and taken care of. He drapes your shawl over his desk chair and takes one last look at you before he starts to turn off the light. Just as the light turns off, a loud thud comes from the other side of the room and he flips the switch back on to see you face down on the floor.

He frowns before gently helping you up and making sure you’re okay once more. He was about to get you back in bed before you were suddenly more alert, scaring him a bit.

“I’m hot!” you yell out and he jumps back, colliding his back against the wall from being startled. He isn’t sure how exactly to help you before you pull your shirt over your head, quickly leaving you in your bra and giving Jim no time to divert his eyes. Just as you did with your shirt, your pants were on the floor and Jim is standing in front of you, looking up at the ceiling and covering his eyes with his hands.

“And now you’re naked.” Jim mutters mostly to himself because he can’t believe that you’re here, in his room, standing in front of him, in only your bra and matching underwear which he only got a glimpse of before coming to his senses and covering his eyes. He doesn’t know what to do next. He knows you’re not going to put your clothes back on and he doesn’t really want to remove his hand and help you and violate your privacy in the process. There’s only one thing he thinks of that might just work.

Blindly, Jim heads over to his dresser, finally removing his hand to search through his clothes. “Here,” he says, turning blindly once more. “You can wear these.” He holds the t-shirt and shorts out to you and his arm remains out stretched for a bit before you slowly take the clothes from him. When the sound of you changing stops, Jim lowers his hand.

The shirt was baggy on you and the shorts were a bit longer than shorts should have been, but Jim thought you looked great in them because they were his. You were wearing his clothes.

He must have been staring for a bit too long because you reach up and gently poke his cheek, breaking the moment between you both. Jim is hopeful in your state that you don’t realize how red his cheeks were when you poked them. “Alright, lets get you to bed.” You nod, finally working with Jim to get you under his covers and snuggled in his pillows. He has to stop himself from reacting the way he did with his clothes once again. When your breathing slowed down, Jim finally steps away, and just like earlier, he turns off the light, thanking everything possible that there was no thud this time.

He was just about to close the door before hearing you say, “I want your babies, Jim” and he freezes in his tracks.

---

For the first time all morning, you don’t say anything when Jim stops talking, you can only sit there with your head buried in the pillow, silently praying that the bed would simply open up and take you whole. Jim has no idea what is running through your head at the moment, he can only assume a whole lot of embarrassment, but if he was truthful, he isn’t sure you really needed to be embarrassed. He actually enjoyed taking care of you last night. And he has definitely been enjoying this morning as well.

“It wasn’t that bad.” Jim tries to reassure you but you can only groan into the pillow, a sound that Jim thinks slowly is turning into a laugh.

“I am never drinking again.” You say to him.

“I promise, it wasn’t that bad.” Jim pulls the pillow from your face, unable to hold back the smile on his lips when he sees you.

You sigh, staring into his comforting eyes before rolling your eyes. “Yeah, says you. You’re not the one who completely embarrassed herself in front of her coworkers and her cru- and her friend.” Just like that, you’ve embarrassed yourself even further. Hopefully, Jim didn’t catch onto the slip of your tongue, but you know you don’t have good enough luck for that. The two of you are quiet for a moment. You’ve refused to look at Jim since your slip up, settling for keeping your eyes closed, which is honestly helping with your hangover headache, and Jim just looking at you. “It least there are no photos on Facebook of me doing the robot this time.” You joke, hoping to help the situation a bit better.

All your comment does is elicit a “What?” from Jim, followed by chuckles as he promises himself to find those photos later.

The two of you were quiet once again, sitting in comfort as you think over the events of last night. You can hear your heartbeat echoing in your ears and your headache is a second thought to the fact that Jim and you were in his bed together and just talking. In all your years of pining after your coworker, you’ve never in this position before, so close together, your bodies were only separated by the fear of wanting more.

“Thank you for taking care of me.” You whisper to Jim and his smile softens his face.

“I always will.” He assures you and your lips tug upwards. “Besides, like you said last night, you need me.”

Your lips instantly tug downwards. “No, I didn’t.” You would’ve remembered that part of the story.

Jim can only laugh, scootching closer to you in the bed on accident with the action. “I didn’t tell you about the cab ride?”

“That I was crying over a movie?”

“And?”

“… and that I said that I need you?”

“And?

“And? What else did I say?”

“Besides that you need me?”

“Never said that.”

Jim smirks. He doesn’t say anything.

He doesn’t say that you rambled off almost a hundred reasons why you were in love in him.

He doesn’t say that it took everything in him to just say you were drunk and didn’t mean any of it.

He doesn’t say that despite feeling drunk himself, he sobered up real fast when he heard those three simple words tumble out of your mouth the first time. And the second time. And the third, fourth, fifth, even what seemed like the 99th time. He just wishes he could hear them again, when the words were said by a sober you.

“Come on, tell me!” You interrupt his thoughts, pushing on his shoulder gently. “What did I say? It can’t be worse than anything else I said to you last night, and I still blame it entirely on the alcohol.” Your hand lingers on his arm, slowly falling closer to the bed where his own hand was laying. Jim can’t look anywhere but your face, but your eyes were studying the way his fingers were slowly covering across your own, something Jim wasn’t even aware he was doing. “Jim?”

He clear his throat, breaking out of the moment between the two of you, but he doesn’t release the hold on your hand, instead he shifts his hand so your fingers intertwine together. “Nothing.” Jim lies, hating the whisper in his voice.

You don’t believe him, but the way he’s looking at you makes you not question him further. Maybe you didn’t need to know everything about last night. Maybe it was all worth it to lead you and Jim to this moment, the two of you growing closer and closer in his bed until his arm is wrapping around your waist and Jim and your breathing has slowed to a sleeping rhythm.

Maybe this time it was better that you didn’t wake up in the morning and be in your own house.

I am slowly moving out of using taglists because it is very tedious and I don't like them, so if you would like to know when I post new fics (if I post new fics) try to follow the account @updates-from-elle if you can, it might not work because I haven’t tried it or played with the settings and everything, so stay tuned!

#Jim halpert x reader #Jim Halpert imagine #Jim Halpert fanfiction #Jim Halpert #the office x reader #the office imagine #the office #the office fanfiction

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letallthetrashraindown · 1 year

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poetry, like bread, is for everyone

Phillip Lee Williams, “Cinnamon Toast” / Van Gogh / Richard Siken, “Litany in Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out” / Noah Verrier / Alden Nowlan, “Great Things Have Happened” / Vera Filatova / Lucy Spraggan, “Tea and Toast”

#fun fact i used to hate toast when i was little #it’s okay now I’ve seen the light #bread feels almost holy to me ngl #web weaving #web weave #compilations #parallels #parallelism #intertextuality #poetry #poems #quotes #words #food #on food #on love #mine

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cantstoptheimagines · 1 year

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Vodka’s Promise (JJ Maybank | Outer Banks)

Part Two

Summary — After a wild night at the Boneyard, you wake up in JJ’s bed.

Warnings & Other Tags ➳ Mentions of sexual activity but no actual smut; mentions of alcohol and drug use; cursing; hangovers; drunken love confessions; you will get secondhand embarrassment from the Reader and JJ being drunk (you’re welcome); friends to lovers; JJ being a clingy motherfucker (I can’t describe cuddling very well so just imagine some, like, aggressive, Pinterest aesthetic spooning or something, lmao); JJ’s dad isn’t here because our boy deserves some happiness; Reader is a pogue.

Notes ➳ Word Count is 2,215. ➳ Reader uses feminine pronouns (she/her). ➳ This is inspired by certain lyrics in Lucy Spraggan’s song, “Last Night (Beer Fear)”.

You groaned at the feeling of sunlight streaming through the open curtains of a window. The humid air made your skin feel warmer than usual. Not to mention, the pounding headache that was slowly making itself known.

You groaned, turning your head in order to shove your face into your pillow. Whatever happened at the Boneyard was not worth this kind of hangover.

You rubbed at your tired eyes and got up to take a much-needed shower. Or you tried to, at least.

You furrowed your eyebrows upon realizing your inability to move. Properly opening your eyes for the first time allowed you to understand why.

Maybe being in someone else’s room should’ve scared you, but it didn’t. Whose room it was definitely did though. Your eyes trailed over the familiar posters on the walls, the messy pile of clothes that were shoved into a corner, and the front yard that was visible through the room’s only window.

A quiet groan echoed in your ear, bringing your attention to the arms that were tightly wrapped around you. Another round of realizations began to overwhelm your mind.

The first one being the fact that, aside from the oversized shirt you had on, you were completely nude. The rest of your clothes were strewn about the floor.

One of the arms around you had taken refuge beneath your shirt, a hand resting comfortably on one of your breasts. The other was shoved beneath the pillow you had been using.

A body, one hundred percent bare, was pressed against you. The person’s chest was flush against the fabric of your shirt, which was probably why you were burning up.

A pair of legs had entangled themselves with your own. Soft, quiet snores filled your ears, barely muffled by the person’s face being tucked into your neck, hiding beneath a mop of blond hair.

What really made your mind piece together the events of the party from the previous night, however, was not only the anatomy pressed against your backside, but also the feeling of wetness between your thighs.

But the final nail in the coffin was an all-too-familiar red and grey hat. It sat on a nightstand, directly next to the bed. You had seen it nearly every day since you became friends with the other pogues. And it, much like the bedroom you were currently in, could only belong to one person.

Another rough groan resonated in your ear. The arms around you took a moment to wake up with some small stretches. The one hiding under the pillow decided to shift lower, wrapping around the front of your chest in a firm hold. That hand landed on your upper arm, nearly fully encircling you before fingertips began gently stroking your skin. The other, which was still tucked within your shirt, pulled your body even closer to the person’s chest.

Their foot slowly caressed your ankles. Your limbs became entwined further than they already were, if such a thing were even possible.

You felt their nose glide against the skin of your neck and closed your eyes at the sensation. Their lips pressed against you in a series of slow, tender kisses.

They trailed from your neck to your jaw until they finally came to your cheek, where they repeatedly kissed the same spot again and again. After a moment, the person returned to their hiding spot, shielding their appearance against your shoulder.

“Morning.”

Shit.

If the familiar bedroom or hat on the bedside table didn’t give it away, that voice certainly did.

JJ continued to soothe the skin of your shoulder with his fingertips. He clearly knew you were awake, nudging himself closer in an attempt to gain a response.

In an instant, you were reminded of how naked the two of you were, quickly muttering as you opened your eyes and shuffled out of his arms, “Bathroom.”

JJ’s hold reluctantly disappeared. His hands extended after you, trying to continue tracing your skin for as long as possible, until you were too far out of reach. You could feel his tired eyes burning into you, watching as you quickly slid on a pair of underwear before collecting the rest of your clothes from the previous night and leaving his room.

As soon as you made it to the bathroom, you put on the sweatpants that were being wrinkled by the overly tight grip of your hands. Your bra quickly followed, even though you had to take off your shirt and put it on again.

After that, you placed your hands on the sink, head down as feelings of nausea and recognition began to sink in.

“Fuck,” you muttered. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fucking stupid, I swear—!”

“Hey,” came a voice.

You turned to find the bathroom door cracked open. JJ stood in the hallway, unable to see you as he waited for a response, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you replied, “yeah, I guess.”

There was a pause. You could hear JJ shuffling awkwardly in the hallway before he asked, “Can I come in?”

You sighed, sliding to the floor and hiding your face against your knees, “It’s your house. Do whatever you want.”

He seemed to hesitate, unsure if you wanted him to leave or not. Finally, after a few seconds of painful silence, he stepped inside. Thankfully, in a fresh pair of shorts. You listened to the quiet sigh that escaped him at the sight of you.

He sat next to you on the cool tile, and he said, “I—uh—I don’t remember much from last night.”

“Me neither,” you said, finally lifting your head to meet his gaze. “Last thing I remember doing is taking a cup from John B. Never again.”

JJ chuckled quietly, “Yeah, he gave me the same thing. He has shitty taste.”

“You got that right,” you smiled.

“He did send me a video a few minutes ago though,” said JJ, removing his phone from his pocket. “Apparently, you and I decided to take his phone last night.”

“Shit!” you laughed, covering your face as warmth crept beneath your skin. “I don’t even wanna know!”

JJ grinned at you, unlocking his phone and opening his messages from John B. He lifted his arm and wrapped it around your shoulders as you moved closer, allowing you to press yourself against his ribs, which you weren’t going to address any time soon. He tapped on the video and the audio began to fill the room.

There you stood, in perfect view of the camera on John B’s phone, in all your drunken glory. JJ was obviously the one behind the camera, filming as you laughed after spilling some of John B’s terrible alcohol.

Suddenly, JJ became visible as well, changing to the front camera to capture both of you in the shot. The two of you were in endless fits of giggles. Your faces were flushed and your eyes were bloodshot. Loud music played in the background as JJ stood behind you, wrapping an arm around your chest with a grin.

“Tell ‘em what you just said!” he shouted, bringing the phone closer. You didn’t even get a chance to speak before he began shaking you as his voice grew louder, words slurring heavily, “Tell ‘em!”

“I asked him to marry me!” you exclaimed, leaning back against JJ’s chest. “I asked JJ to be my forever bitch!”

“Got on one knee and everything!” beamed JJ.

The phone shook for a moment as he nearly caused the two of you to trip by pushing himself even further against your back. His arm moved from it place around your chest, instead traveling to your waist. His hand quickly disappeared beneath the front of your shirt.

“You hear that, John B?!” he continued. “This rack is mine—!”

“Oh my—!” you shrieked, forcing JJ to pause the video. “I can’t watch this anymore!”

JJ leapt to his feet, following you back to his room. His loud laughter trailed behind you the entire way, “C’mon, I wanna see the rest!”

“JJ, no!” you said, combing through the blankets on his bed in an effort to find your phone. “That’s so fucking embarrassing!”

“Nope!” he exclaimed, shoving you onto the blankets and crawling on top of you. “We started it, so we’re finishing it!”

“Dude!” you grunted, trying to adjust yourself beneath his sudden weight. “If I finish the video, will you leave me alone?”

He grinned down at you, “Depends on what’s in the video.”

You groaned, “Fine.”

JJ’s grin only widened after hearing your response. He finally rolled away to take up the space next to you instead. He held the phone for both of you to see before unpausing the video.

After JJ had laid claim to your breasts, you had apparently decided to take the next step. In the video, you turned, grabbed his cheeks, and pulled him into a heated kiss. He went along with your actions, moving his arm from your chest to wrap around your hips before groping a handful of your backside.

“Need you, J,” you muttered, pushing your chest flush against his. “Want your babies—“

You interrupted the video again with a loud groan. JJ let out another boisterous laugh at the humiliated expression on your face. You hid your face against his skin, and muttered, “I can’t believe I said that—“

“Shut up!” demanded JJ. “This is gold!”

It didn’t take long for him to eat his words. Through the phone, his drunken voice asked, “Gonna be my bad girl tonight?”

It was your turn to laugh as a wave of red covered JJ’s cheeks and spread to his ears, “We suck at sexy talk.”

“We really do,” he chuckled. “We must’ve completely blacked out from whatever John B put in those cups.”

“Guess so.”

The two of you fell into silence, continuing to watch the video, occasionally laughing at the stupid things you said to one another. At the party, your exchanges of physical affection had carried on for quite some time apparently. Aside from the music in the background, it had turned into a quiet moment between... friends. Not-Friends? You weren’t entirely sure anymore.

“I love you, J—”

Your eyes widened as the video abruptly cut off. The last frame was of JJ opening his mouth to reply. What he may or may not have said, you weren’t sure. And you were far too embarrassed to say anything.

“I hope I said it back.”

You blinked in surprise, taking a moment to fully comprehend what he had just told you. He set his phone aside, quietly waiting for you to continue the conversation. His arm wrapped around you and his fingertips reached down to trace patterns against your hip.

He shuddered when you followed suit, placing your hand against his bare stomach, given that he had abstained from putting on a shirt. Chills rose on his skin when your fingertips danced over his ribs. It nearly brought a smile to your lips when his free hand moved to rest on top of yours. He pressed it flat against his bellybutton, muttering something about being ticklish before closing his eyes.

“J?”

“Yeah?”

You felt like an idiot, but you asked him the question that had been burning through your mind since you woke up, “Do you think we just took our clothes off? Or did we actually have sex?”

“Oh!” he laughed, opening his eyes to look at you with an amused smile. “We definitely had sex, no question. Terrible as our dirty talk might’ve been.”

“John B’s never gonna let us live this down,” you groaned. “None of the pogues are.”

JJ huffed, entertained by your concern over your friends’ reactions, “Maybe that’s why we ended up at my place instead of the Château.”

“They’re probably talking about us right now,” you whispered, watching as JJ intertwined your fingers with his. “Making fun of us and everything.”

JJ let out a sigh. His hand that he was using to caress your hip came to a stop. Instead, his fingers dug into your flesh. Seemingly gathering up courage, he quietly asked, “Do you regret it?”

He could’ve let out a sigh of relief when you quietly said, “No. Not if it was you. I trust you, J.”

“Good,” he muttered. “So, is this gonna change what we’ve got goin’ on? Like, we’re still friends, right?”

“Do friends have sex?”

Another pause.

“You got me there.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes with a grin. JJ smiled widely at you. Gently brushing your skin, he sank his fingers into the hem of your sweatpants, eager to feel you again. Hand pressed flat against your spine, he ran his thumb back and forth against you.

Another bout of silence filled the room. With JJ’s soft touch slowly lulling you back to sleep, you closed your eyes and pressed yourself snug into his side.

“I love you, J,” you whispered against his skin. “I really meant that.”

“John B’s keggers are good for something then,” he replied, head shifting to lean atop yours. “Love you too. I’m sayin’ it back this time before I lose the chance.”

“Is that a vodka’s promise?”

“It’s a JJ promise,” he huffed quietly, his words finally allowing the two of you to fall asleep in each other’s arms.

#2023 #outer banks #outer banks imagine #outer banks imagines #outer banks x reader #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank imagines #jj maybank x reader #vodka's promise

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